


Fourteen Days

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Post-Series, Santos Administration, donna moss - Freeform, josh lyman - Freeform, perfect baby angels, unnecessary angst, unnecessary drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 09:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: The big day is approaching, faster than a speeding bullet. There's nothing in the world that could tear them apart.





	1. Chapter 1

I lean against the door frame to Josh's office, sighing. He has to know I'm here. I've been standing here for at least five minutes and while I know he can get lost in his work, he's not that oblivious. I don't know why it's so important that he notice me on his own at this point, I just know that it is.

He has his elbow on his desk, his forehead against his palm as he reads over endless amounts of notes and memos. I'm sure he's legitimately busy—he always is—but that's never stopped him from having a few moments for me. That's all I'm asking for, honestly; just a few moments of his time.

With another sigh—an aggravated one—I propel myself a few feet into his office, and there's no possible way he can pretend that he doesn't know I'm there.

He makes a noise, flipping over a piece of paper. "What's up, Donna?"

I count to myself for a couple of seconds, hoping to keep myself in check. "I'm heading home soon," I answer quietly.

"Okay."

Wow. That's it. Just "okay." I pause for a few long moments, waiting to see if he'll say anything else.

Silence.

I clear my throat, hoping to push down the emotions I feel creeping up. "Will I see you tonight?"

"Huh? Oh, probably not. I'll be home late so don't wait up."

"If you even bother coming home," I mumble.

He actually looks up at me for a second, irritation all over his face, before going back to his work. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You just seem to be sleeping in your office more than in your own bed lately."

"It happens, Donna," he tells me, condescension seeping through his tone. "And I don't know if I like what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything," I answer, feeling heat rush to my face. Whatever else is happening, Josh isn't a cheater. If he's not home with me during the night, it's because he's working or fell asleep at his desk. I don't have confidence in much right now, but I know he's not sleeping with someone else.

He shakes his head, burying his face in his work, and I take a few deep breaths. There's really no need for me to be this bent out of shape right now. We're both running on too little sleep—have been for years—and emotions tend to run high when exhaustion sets in.

Eventually, he must realize I'm still standing in front of his desk because I see his forehead scrunch as he lifts his eyes in my general direction. "Was there something else?"

I count to five in my head again. "I just feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"Donna—"

"You're not there when I go to sleep, you're gone when I wake up…I miss you." My stomach twists and I'm not entirely sure if I mean that I miss his physical presence, or the man he was just a few short weeks ago. The guy in front of me now feels more like a stranger than he ever has, and the worst part is I can't even begin to guess why.

"It's the _job_ , Donna. I'm not staying away from you on purpose."

Disbelief rushes through me, pushing my sadness out of the way. He absolutely is avoiding me. We've been in office for two years and he's rarely at work all that late or early, and when he is, it's not for more than a day or two at a time. Even then, he'll make a point to meet me for lunch or will find five minutes just to touch base. Even still, I'm not sure if that's a point worth calling him out on right now.

"We're getting married in a couple of weeks," I finally say after the silence between us grew almost too large to overcome.

It's almost imperceptible but his entire body tenses even further. "Yeah."

The knot that's been in my stomach for days now tightens. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I guess."

A lump forms in my throat and I do my best to push it back down. "Could you, you know, _try_ to be excited about it?"

He makes a face and rolls his eyes a little, but it's enough to make my blood boil. "I am excited about it."

"Could have fooled me."

He drops his hands on his desk with a loud thud, making me jump before I can control myself. "Look, I'm sorry I don't have time to fawn over color schemes and flower arrangements with you. I'm only trying to run a country here. Granted, it's not as important as a party, but it's worth noting."

My blood boils. I actually feel everything inside of me catch on fire. "Fuck you."

His head snaps up, his eyes wide as he stares at me. "What?"

" _Fuck. You. Josh._ "

He hesitates for just a moment before clearing his throat and looking back to the files on his desk. "Why are you getting so pissy?"

I swear my blood turns into lava. Josh has made me mad before—of course he has. I've known him for more than ten years, and if he didn't do it while we were working together, he's certainly been an insensitive ass more than once while living together. He's never— _he's never_ —been anything like this before. He's usually hurtful by accident, not spiteful on purpose. "Why am _I_ being pissy? Are you serious?"

"Donna, you're making a mountain out of a molehill."

"You're so full of shit."

He smirks again, and I have to physically restrain myself from reaching over his desk and throttling him. "And how exactly am I—"

"There is nothing _that_ big or _that_ important going on right now."

He tilts his head at me, his entire demeanor oozing a level condescension that's previously been reserved for obstinate Republicans. "And how would _you_ know if there's something going on around here or not? You don't exactly have clearance—"

"Because the President isn't working right now, you ass," I spit out, actually forcing myself to take a step back. I absolutely can't be too close to him right now.

For whatever reason, that stops him in his tracks. "What?"

"The President—you know, your boss?—hasn't been pulling these kinds of hours. He's been spending time with his family.

"Have you—"

"I'm not checking up on you; I just happen to have conversations with _my_ boss, and she's been talking about how nice it is that things have been so calm lately and that he can spend so much time with her and the kids. I know he's not working around the clock because if there was something so big it was keeping you here all hours, he'd be here, too."

He gives me his smug face, the one he makes when he thinks he can see the world as a chessboard and has someone in checkmate. "Maybe there are things—"

"Sam hasn't been here, either," I tell him, knowing what he was going to try to pull. "Even if you thought the President didn't need to be involved in something, you'd have Sam here, but I know he's been at home with his wife most nights, enjoying his relative free time. And I know this because he's always asking if we want to have dinner with the two of them to relax before the wedding, or even offering to help with some of the planning details. He has time right now. Time you have, too."

"What are you trying to say to me? I should stop doing my job so I can focus on a wedding?"

I can feel myself deflate a little. I feel like…like nothing I've felt before. I've never felt like I mattered less to this man, and he's had some moments over the years where he's made me feel pretty small. "Go to hell. I'm not talking about _a_ wedding; I'm talking about _our_ wedding. You know—the thing that's supposed to bind us together for the rest of our lives? But I can see how that wouldn't be a big deal."

"I have a _job_ to do."

"And I've _never_ asked you to stop doing it. Never. I've never demanded that I be your top priority, or that everything else come to a halt so we can do wedding stuff, and I'd never ask you to stop everything and focus on the minutia of it all. Have I asked you to do that?"

He's back to actively avoiding my gaze. "Well, no—"

"Because I know how important this job is, Josh. I know. I know that none of this or even I can take precedence over it all." My voice catches in my throat and I take a moment to try to regain control. Since he became chief of staff, I really haven't asked him to make me a priority, but I also haven't needed to. He's been really good about trying to balance work and our personal life, almost always choosing me over something that could keep him at work for another three hours.

I hate to be this person. I hate feeling needy, and I hate that I always think I might be blowing things out of proportion, but something is seriously going on with Josh and he won't talk to me about it. In the little more than two years we've been together, I've never had to ask him to make me a priority because he's always done it on his own. Maybe I took it for granted. He's just always been so sweet and attentive and is usually the one to slow us down. He's always talking about how we shouldn't put our lives on hold for work.

"You said you didn't want to be Leo," I finally say, my voice quiet, strained.

He scrunches his face up in confusion. "What? I didn't—I wish I knew half as much as Leo did."

"With your personal life. You said you didn't want to be Leo with your personal life." I pause, taking several deep breaths as I try to collect myself. "You said you didn't want what happened to Leo and Jenny to happen to us."

"It's not," he insists. "Don't be dramatic."

"Dramatic," I whisper. "Right."

"I don't know what your problem is lately, but you're being a real nag."

My heart actually twists in agony. "Josh, _we are getting married in two weeks_. This is a big deal. I've hardly seen you since well before the State of the Union. It's not a matter of me feeling the need to control you or keep track of your every move, but I would like to check in with you every few days. You used to like being around me, but now it feels like you can't stand the sight of me. I don't know if you've even touched me in a month." He gives me a look of utter disbelief but I just shake my head miserably, wrapping my arms across my stomach. I honestly can't recall the last time he kissed me good morning, and the last time we made love was probably the first week of January.

"You asked me to marry you, remember? I never forced you or gave you an ultimatum. We talked about it—we've been talking about it for a long time. We both knew we wanted to get married at some point but I never told you it had to be a certain time or in a certain way. If you're not ready, you shouldn't have asked me, but _you're_ the one who walked around with an engagement ring for months. _You're_ the one who told me that on our first day back from Hawaii, after I kept telling you I wouldn't move in with you, that you hoped I wouldn't put up that kind of fight when you proposed." I feel my eyes start to well up and I bite the inside of my cheek as hard as I can stand to keep it at bay. "If you're having second thoughts about all of this, you could at least have the decency to talk to me about it. I'm not asking for much, but I would like to know if you're planning to bail on the rest of our life."

He leans back in his chair, crinkling his forehead at me in confusion. "I'm not bailing on anything. I'm sorry that I've been too busy with my actual job to hold your hand during all of this—"

"Go to hell." I straighten myself up, trying to feel rage instead of profound sadness. "You're not blaming me for this. I realize that you think my job isn't as important as yours, and maybe it isn't. Maybe Helen and I aren't saving the world from terrorists, but it's still something that keeps me busy for ten or twelve hours a day. I've still found time to deal with our wedding. Just because we have a planner doesn't mean that there aren't decisions to be made, and I want to be involved in one of the most important days of my life. Forgive me for thinking you'd feel the same. I thought you'd show just a little more interest in the whole process than you have. I haven't wanted to bother you with things I know you'd never care about or notice, but I sure as hell never thought I'd be the only one taking care of this whole thing. I'm not the little woman, Josh. I'm not sitting at home keeping dinner warm on the off chance you'll grace me with your presence, and planning _our_ wedding isn't just _my_ responsibility." I take a deep breath, trying to gather my courage; my heart pounds out of control. "If this isn't what you want to do then be an adult and tell me, but I'm not going to wait around until our wedding day for you to figure it out." I want to say more. I _need_ to say more, but my throat all but closes up as tears that I can't fight back fill my eyes.

I turn as quickly as I can and walk away from his office. A tiny part of me hopes I'll hear him come after me even though I know it'll never happen. Whatever is going on his head right now is going to stop him from being a normal human being.

I make it outside and hail a cab without incident, surprised for just a few moments that none of the usual detail is trailing me before I remember that they usually don't if I'm not with Josh. That's all supposed to change after the wedding—not that I actually want my own personal detail, but it's part of the package. Still, I leave the White House with no fanfare, giving the cab driver my address. I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, finally pressing send when I get to the First Lady.

" _Donna!_ " she answers after just a couple of rings. " _I thought I sent you home a while ago—did something come up?Shoot._ "

I clear my throat, trying to push back the lump. "I know I'm already taking a lot of time off for the whole wedding thing, but would it be a problem to take a couple of days now?"

" _Now?_ "

"Now. As in tomorrow and probably the day after?"

" _No, that shouldn't be a problem. Do you and Josh need to take a few days before the wedding? Matt and I had to do that. Well, we couldn't get away for a couple of days but we had to make an effort to spend time talking about something other than our wedding. It can be overwhelming._ "

I don't say anything in response—I _can't_ say anything. I don't know how to answer her. I don't know what's happening right now. I have no plan. I'm going back to my and Josh's apartment and…then what? Calling Helen and asking for a couple of days off was impulsive and I had nothing in mind for it. I only knew that I needed space. But what does that mean? I share an apartment with the guy I'm supposed to be marrying in a matter of days but the thought of being around him right now is agonizing. Not that he's been home much lately. Hell, I could lock myself in our apartment for the next week and not have to worry about bumping into him.

That thought fills with me more sadness than it ought to.

" _Donna? Is everything all right?_ "

"Everything's fine, Helen," I answer, my voice high and choked and very obviously everything but okay. The cab driver pulls up the apartment and I hop out as I pay the driver, barely pausing for the change. "I've got some stuff to take care of, though."

" _Anything I can do to help?_ " Damn—she sounds really worried now. If I've learned one thing about Helen Santos over the last few years it's that her mom-sense kicks into overdrive the moment someone tells the slightest fib about their wellbeing and she'll latch onto it until she sorts it out. It's how she gets the President to slow down when he thinks it's only the sniffles but is actually the flu, and how she knows when her kids aren't actually sick and are just trying to get out of going to school. She doesn't often use that ability on the rest of us, but it can be hard to get anything past her.

"No, but thank you," I answer as I shove open the apartment door, taken aback all over again by the lack of security trailing me. Even when I'm by myself, if I'm headed home, one of the members of the detail will usually follow to make sure the place is secure, I'm sure if nothing else in preparation for Josh's arrival. "I'll give you a call tomorrow, all right? To let you know if I need the day after off, too."

" _Donna—_ "

"I've gotta go. Have a good night."

She hesitates on the other end; I can tell she wants to ask questions and that my behavior is throwing her off, but she holds off. Unfortunately, it won't be long before she talks to her husband about it, which means he'll go to Josh after that to find out if I'm all right. Still, if Josh is still being an arrogant ass, and I'm betting that he is, he won't think that anything's wrong with me, other than that I'm a nagging bitch.

" _Okay. You have a good night, too._ "

I nod and click my phone shut, not sure of what else to say. I glance around the dark apartment and turn on one of the lamps next to the couch. I reach for my laptop, determined to find somewhere to go before I back away from the device like it's on fire. Josh would have no idea how to track my search history but he knows plenty of people who do, and it feels vitally important that he not have it that easy if he's suddenly inclined to search me out.

With a sigh I dig out a phone book and make my way into our bedroom. I force myself not to think about what I'm doing as I flip to hotel listings in the Yellow Pages and grab one of my overnight bags, shoving in a few days worth of clothes and toiletries into it while I make reservations in Arlington. Maybe I'm being dramatic right now; maybe I'm blowing things out of proportion. Maybe I'm perfectly justified in my response to the situation. All I know is right now I don't want to be somewhere that reminds me so much of Josh. I can't think about him without shaking with anger. I don't want to be in this home that we've been making together for two years. I don't want to be somewhere he can easily corner me to tell me just how ridiculous I'm being about this "wedding stuff."

I pause and take several deep breaths, dozens of emotions flooding through me. I don't know what's going on with him. I don't know why he's pulled back from me for the last month or so. I don't know what changed between the holidays—when all he could talk about was us getting married—and now, when he's avoiding me like the plague. God knows I've tried to figure it out. I've tried giving him space so he can sort it out on his own, I've tried talking to him repeatedly but he's made himself almost completely unavailable, locking himself up in meetings or even just his office with explicit instructions that no one is allowed to bother him, save the President of the United States. Honestly, if we were on the verge of war, I'd get it. If something major was happening in the country right now, I'd understand. The world has been fairly quiet as of late, or at least it's been no more confusing than normal. But even at the beginning of the administration, Josh would make his way home as often as possible and as early as he could, and even if it wasn't much, we'd still get to spend a few hours together. If I was asleep when he got home, he'd wake me up just so we could talk to each for a few minutes, and he'd always say goodbye to me in the mornings if he was headed in before I.

I shake myself out of my reverie and grab my stuff, heading back down to the street. I hate that I'm disappointed that I don't spot any of Josh's detail lurking around, letting me know that he's on his way to talk to me, but I should have expected as much. He's incredibly stubborn and if he's refusing to see an issue with the way he's been behaving lately, I don't know if he'll ever reach out.

My stomach clenches as I hail another cab, giving the driver the address. I briefly considered taking Josh's car but…it's Josh's car. It's registered to him. If he were so inclined, he'd have no trouble tracking it down. He'd have even less trouble saying it was stolen if he was still in the mood to be an ass.

I stare out the window as DC at night rolls by me, the sights that usually fill me with wonder not even registering. I ignore the cab driver's attempts at conversation, certain that I'll wind up telling him far more than he bargained for. I'm so lost in my own little world that I don't notice when the cab stops in front of the hotel. I drag myself out of the car after paying and make my way down to an ATM before checking into the hotel. If I use my credit card to pay for this, anyone who wants to find me, including the press, will thank me for the engraved invitation. At least cash will give me a little bit of time to myself.

I chuckle to myself mirthlessly as I make my way back to the hotel, almost amused by the odd amount of thought I'm putting into this. I'm assuming that Josh will want to find me so I'm making it as difficult as I can but…the truth is he may not give a damn. He might not even notice that I'm gone. As much as this isn't a test to see if he'll come after me, I can't help but wish that he'll want to know where I am. I only barely keep my tears at bay as I check in, declining the offer to have my bags brought up for me. Instead, I pull out my cell phone again, calling CJ as I trudge into my room. It's still early enough in California that I shouldn't be disturbing Henry, if she and Danny have even put him to bed yet. She picks up after only a couple of rings.

" _Sadie, Sadie, married lady,_ " she croons into my ear by way of a greeting. " _See what's on my hand. There's nothing quite as touching as a simple wedding band._ "

"CJ—"

" _How's the future Mrs. Lyman tonight? _"__

__"Well—"_ _

__" _Before you can ask, the flowers are beautiful, the music will knock 'em dead, and you look so gorgeous in your wedding dress that I'm considering marrying you._ "_ _

__"But—"_ _

__" _As for your choice of groom, I'm still questioning it but he seems to make you happy so who am I to judge?_ "_ _

__No matter how hard I try not to cry, I feel a little sob bubble out of me and am met with silence on the other end of the line. I didn't call CJ to cry—I really didn't. I just needed a sounding board for all this and who better than my maid of honor? But there's nothing I can do to stop it now._ _

__" _Donna? What's wrong?I'll kill him._ "_ _

__"You don't even know—"_ _

__" _I don't care; I will_ kill _him._ "_ _

__I want to laugh at CJ's vehemence but all I can do is try to choke back my tears._ _


	2. Chapter 2

I shake my head, though I’m not sure if it’s in disgust or confusion. I don’t understand Donna at least eighty percent of the time. She _knows_ what my job is; she knows that I can’t keep regular hours and that I’m not always going to be home when she wants me to be. We talked about that at the very beginning. Hell, she’s worked here enough years to know the day doesn’t end at six.

Impossible woman.

I sigh and rub my temples, going back to the file on my desk. I’ve got a million things to do and I can’t put it all on hold because my girlfriend is having a hissy fit.

Well…fiancée. We _are_ getting married in a couple of weeks. She’s right about that. Still, that’s all the more reason to cut me some slack—I’ve got a lot of stuff to clear up before then.

I try to focus on the document in front of me, buckling down to slog my way through it. It takes me at least ten minutes to realize that not a word has registered. I rub my eyes for a few seconds and try again, but I only stare at the page for five minutes this time before I realize I can’t focus at all. Great. At this rate, I’ll be here all night again. Something else for Donna to gripe about. _This_ is what’s been keeping me here ‘til all hours for weeks—the amount of work is overwhelming and I’m having so much trouble keeping my thoughts organized that everything is taking two or three times as long as it should. I just have too much to do.

She likes to oversimplify, assuming that I can just hand stuff off to Sam but it doesn’t work that way. Just because my work has been keeping me _at work_ doesn’t mean I’m turning into Leo. Sure, Sam has said he wants to do more around here, but that doesn’t mean I can just foist my job off on him. I have responsibilities, too, and those responsibilities mean I can’t take hours to wade through menial decisions like chicken or fish, roses or tulips, orchestra or a band. I’m trying to keep the country running and that means prioritizing. Wedding details are at the bottom of the list.

I run my hand through my hair, absently noting how long it is and that Donna told me to get it trimmed weeks ago. I stare down at the memo on my desk, the words swimming and blurring together as I try to concentrate.

In fairness, she hasn’t really come to me with many of those questions, and I think we covered a lot of that stuff in December when the whole wedding planning thing kicked into high gear. Other than her mentioning going to dress fittings and reminding me about my tux—which I still have to take care of—telling me when our families are getting in and that sort of thing, I don’t know when she last asked me anything about the wedding. Of course, if she had, I don’t know that I would have registered it, being occupied with work and all.

I groan and drop my head to my desk, listening to myself for the first time. I’ve constantly been saying I’m busy—well, I’ve been busy for years. There’s no denying that. And yet, I’ve somehow been able to find time in the last couple of them to manage a successful enough relationship that we’re going to get married. It shouldn’t end there—I can see why she’d be pissed that I’m leaving all the planning up to her when it’s supposed to be our day, even if the details are excessive.

I stand, wincing as my body protests after being hunched over for so long. I suppose I should go and find her, see if I can apologize for being insensitive about this. I’ll probably be in the doghouse for a day or so, but it’ll be all right.

I make my way slowly through the quiet halls of the West Wing and into the East, scrolling through emails on my Blackberry as I go. Most of it is no more pressing than normal, but nothing I feel I can pawn off on Sam. I take a glance at the folder marked “Wedding” and see there are close to a dozen new emails since I last checked. I barely stifle a groan at the sheer volume of communication. I have no idea what could be so pressing about a wedding, but I’m not going to choose now to find out.

I shove the device into my pocket and enter the East Wing, a little surprised to see that Donna’s assistant seems to be gone for the night. Slacker. I tap on Donna’s door and push it open, even more surprised to see all the lights save one little desk lamp are off. Did she leave, too? I wander over to her desk but everything looks like it’s shut down and locked up. I check the time on her desk phone but it’s only a little after eight. Could she have gone home already? How long ago did she leave? I can’t even remember what time it was when she came to my office. Awesome. She’s going to be even more pissed at me if she had to sit here and wait forever for me to show up.

I pull out my phone again and call her cell, looking at the device in confusion as it rings forever before going to her voicemail. Weird.

I dial again as I head back to my office, a strange feeling forming in the pit of my stomach when it goes to her voicemail again. I try calling our landline, but that one just rings, too.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself as the answering machine clicks on. “Donna, pick up the phone.” I pause. “If you’re there, please pick up the phone.” I pause again. “Okay, call me back if you hear this before I reach you.”

I hang up and dial her cell phone again, feeling panic start to twinge at me when it goes to voicemail again. “Donna, you’re starting to scare me. Are you all right? You’re not in your office, you’re not answering any phone calls…are you at home? Are you on your way there? If you are, just…” I look around for a few moments then shove all the paperwork on my desk into a drawer, locking it hastily. “Just stay there, all right? I’m heading home now. Don’t go anywhere.” I hang up and hurry through the halls, barely taking time to pull on my heavy winter coat before I rush outside. A hand clamps down on my shoulder before I can get very far.

“Slow down, please, Mr. Lyman,” Gus says before mumbling into his wrist piece.

“I need to get home,” I insist as I try to move forward, but his large hand keeps me in place.

“Yes, sir. If you’ll follow me.” He tries to steer me toward the waiting SUV and I sigh as I try to pull myself out of his grip.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Regardless, sir, if you’ll follow me.” He uses a little more force this time and pushes me toward the car. I grit my teeth as I’m placed in the vehicle; I don’t think this guy gets how important this is.

“I _really_ need to get home,” I tell him and Marlene as the car idles in place, showing no signs of moving any time soon.

“We’ll get you there, sir,” Marlene answers as she finally starts to move the car. I start to tap my foot impatiently, but she doesn’t seem to be in a rush as she starts one of the roundabout routes home, taking every street as cautiously as if it’s her first time driving.

My anxiety levels climb as I try Donna again, still not getting an answer. Unless she’s told me she’s going to be inaccessible for a while, Donna always answers her phone. Even if she’s fallen asleep and her cell is on vibrate, the house phone would be loud enough to wake her.

“Gus, did you guys take Donna home earlier?” I ask, phone pressed to my ear as it rings ceaselessly on the other end.

“No, sir.”

“What?! Why not? I thought you supposed to—”

“It’s not our job, sir,” Marlene answers smoothly. “We’re happy to drive Miss Moss from place to place if she requests it but we’re not required to do so, nor can we force her to use our protection.”

“So you’re saying you saw her and she told you to get lost?”

“No, sir,” Gus answers. “We didn’t see her exit the building.” That’s reassuring. “Is there a problem?”

I jab the dial button on my phone again, still hoping she’ll pick up. I have no idea where she is right now and she’s not answering any phone I call. “Yeah, there’s a problem!”

“Calm down, sir.”

“Calm down my ass! Donna’s missing and you’re acting like it’s no big deal!”

Gus turns in his seat and stares at me, eyebrows raised. “Are you certain she’s missing?”

“Well…no, but she’s not answering her cell phone or the phone at home and she wasn’t in her office and you didn’t see her leave.”

“She could have left through a different exit, Mr. Lyman, or she may still be at the White House.”

I pause—both are possibilities I hadn’t considered. “Is there any way you can check?” I ask, starting to feel like an idiot. Of course she could still be at work. It’s a big damn building. Hell, she could even be walking home right now, though I’ll kill her if she is. That thought sends a whole different wave of panic through me. What if she’s not answering her cell because something happened to her as she was walking through DC at night?

I can hear Gus speaking softly into his wrist, mostly only able to make out “Donna Moss.” Her phone goes to voicemail again, and it takes everything in me to not smash mine in frustration. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have this much trouble finding her, especially since we live together. I also shouldn’t be panicking right now. I should—

“She’s not in the White House, sir,” Gus says, interrupting my thoughts. “Security has her leaving the front gate about an hour ago.”

“Shit,” I hiss, immediately defaulting back to panic. I call her again, groaning when I get her voicemail. “Donna, where the hell are you?” I snap, leaning forward as the car reaches our building. “We’re pulling up front now and I swear to God if you’re hiding out in the apartment…if you’ve made me worry like this because you’re giving me the silent treatment…” My voice trails off as I move to get out of the car, Gus’s hand on my shoulder stopping me before I can get far. The second car with the rest of my detail pulls up right behind us and I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for the all clear. It strikes me as absolutely ridiculous that someone didn’t follow Donna when she left work. Is she somehow safer just because she’s not with me? As if someone wouldn’t do something to her if they really wanted to get to me. Everyone in this town knows I’d go to the ends of the earth for her—and that I  _have_ gone to the ends of the earth—and that was long before we ever got together.

“All clear,” Gus finally says, the door opening from the other side.

“Is she there?” I ask, rushing past the other guards to get inside. I’m greeted with silence, which I don’t take as a good sign. Alex holds the door open for me as I burst into the apartment. I rush from room to room, finding no one. “Damn it,” I mumble then realize the phone is pressed to my ear. “Donna, where are you?” I ask before ending the call.

I pause in the living room, burying my face in my hands as I force myself to breathe and think as logically as possible. I know that she left work about an hour ago—that’s plenty of time for her to have gotten home and to have gone back out. She could be at the grocery store for all I know and maybe she can’t hear her phone. She could have stopped off at a restaurant or bar before going home. She could have a meeting with one of the wedding planners—

My head pops up and I grab my phone, searching through my emails. Even if I haven’t been going to all those sessions, I’ve been kept in the loop just in case. If there was another meeting tonight, I’m sure it was communicated to me.

It only takes a few moments for my hopes to be dashed, though, when I can’t find anything about tonight. Shit. I try calling her again, but it only goes to voicemail once more. “C’mon, Donna, this isn’t funny. I’m at home and I have no idea where you are. I just need to know that you’re alive.” I pause, shuddering at the thought of something happening to her. “Call me. Please.”

I hang up again, kicking the coffee table in frustration. The pain doesn’t even register. I grab the landline and call her, hoping against hope that it’s just the Blackberry giving me issues, but I only get her voicemail.

Desperate, I start to prowl around the place, looking for any sign that she’s been there tonight. I feel strange for a few moments, almost like I’m a visitor in my own house. I’ve spent so little time here in weeks, mostly just grabbing a quick shower or changing clothes, or getting a few hours of sleep on the couch. It’s been easier to sleep there than wake Donna in the middle of the night.

I shake my head and force myself to keep looking. The living room looks normal, so does the kitchen. I get to our bedroom and move around slowly, but I don’t see any evidence that she so much as changed out of her work clothes. There’s a phonebook on her nightstand, but I couldn’t say if it was put there recently or not. I go to the closet, closing my eyes for a few seconds as I grab the knob. My heart thuds in my chest as I wonder what I will or won’t find.

When I think I have myself under control I yank open the door but nothing seems terribly out of place until…

“Fuck!” If it were anyone but OCD Donna, I’d never notice if something was out of place in a closet, but she always keeps things neat and orderly, down to lining up her shoes according to color and style. This extends to her luggage, and there’s a gap where her small suitcase should be. “ _Fuck!_ ” I can hear the guards calling to me but I ignore them as I call Donna again, pacing around the room until I get her voicemail. “Are you _kidding_ me?!” I exclaim. “You left me?! You _fucking_ _left me_? I can’t make it to a couple of stupid wedding planning things and you abandon ship? What the hell, Donna! You don’t even leave a note? You don’t even have the decency to tell me you’re gone?” I walk over to her dresser, yanking open the drawers as I try to gauge how much of her clothing is missing. I can’t say for sure because she has a lot of clothes, but it doesn’t look like a substantial amount. I run into the bathroom, my throat closing up when I find her toothbrush missing. I smack the wall in frustration. “Damn it, Donna! Stop being such a…such a _child_ and come home.” I breathe heavily for a few moments, trying to calm myself. “Come home,” I say again, my voice strained and quiet. I pause for a few long seconds before ending the call. I shuffle back into our bedroom and drop onto the bed, tossing my phone next to me before I cover my face with my hands.

What the hell happened? We have one little argument and she _leaves_ me? All because I haven’t been able to drop everything every time there’s a decision to be made about the wedding? It’s not _that_ serious. Not leave your fiancé serious. It’s not like I’m cheating on her. Even if I had the inclination, I certainly haven’t had the time.

I sigh and lift my head, running my fingers over her pillow for a few sentimental seconds before my frustration returns. I can’t believe she would just leave like that. No warning, no explanation, not even a big blow-out fight. I try to think back on the conversation we had in my office just a little while ago but truthfully, I was only partly listening. I know she mentioned something about me not paying attention to the wedding and not being home much lately, but I can’t help that. It sounds cocky but I’m actually a very important man. I’m helping to run a country. Yeah, sure, maybe I’m not utilizing Sam as much as I could be, or even as much as I have in the past, but doesn’t mean Donna has the right to tell me I’m supposed to be handing work off to him. She doesn’t understand how sensitive some of this stuff is.

Okay, so that’s probably not entirely true. She would have a better idea than most of what goes on with my job, but that’s all the more reason for her to cut me some slack. And just because the President isn’t physically present while I’m working doesn’t mean he’s not aware of any situation I’m working on. I keep my boss fully informed. He just knows how to prioritize and understands that just because I’m working on something doesn’t mean I need him there to keep me company. He knows I’ll come get him if he’s needed.

I let out a half-yell in frustration and grab for the landline, patting the bed for the phone though I have no idea where I left it. I lunge for the extension on my nightstand and punch in Donna’s number again. My leg jiggles as it rings, but I hang up and immediately redial instead of leaving another message. Then I do it again. And again. And again. I figure she’ll get tired of it at some point and answer.

I jump in surprise as my cell phone rings, the cordless falling out of my hand and bouncing onto the bed. I grab the Blackberry, sagging in disappointment when I see the caller’s name on the screen. Danny Concannon. I answer with a sigh. “Hey, Danny. Now’s not really a good time.”

“ _And hello to you, too,_ ” he answers, sounding his usual cross between sarcastic and jovial.

“I’m serious. I’ve got a thing going on here right now—”

“ _I just have a message for you from CJ_.”

That makes me stop short. “CJ? Why wouldn’t she just call me herself? Is everything all right?”

“ _She said you need to stop…what was it?...oh, ‘blowing up’ Donna’s phone_.”

“Wait, what?”

“ _I cleaned it up, of course, but if you’d like the original version…_ ”

“CJ said…what the…is Donna there?”

Danny sighs, somehow making it sound patronizing. “ _Have you misplaced your fiancée?_ ”

“Danny…”

“ _How long is the flight out here, Josh? It takes at least five hours. Has it been at least five hours since you last saw Donna?_ ”

I grit my teeth, trying to keep myself in check. “So, she’s not there.”

” _Ding ding ding!_ ”

“Then—”

“ _CJ’s been on the phone with her for close to an hour now. Other than promising to kill someone for Donna, CJ’s end of the conversation hasn’t been terribly enlightening. She’s been mumbling things about some sort of sisterhood for the last half hour, and if looks could kill, I’d be a dead man. Josh, if you’ve done something so heinous to Donna that my wife is now pissed off at_ me _, I will make your life a living hell. I will fly out there right now and make you regret being born._ ”

I literally scratch my head in confusion. “Danny, what in the hell is happening right now?”

“ _You tell me, buddy,_ ” he answers, heavy on the sarcasm. “ _I don’t know why Donna’s been on the phone with CJ this long._ ”

“Okay, but…they talk a lot, right? That’s a thing they do.”

“ _Yeah, but when they do that, there’s a lot of laughing. I don’t hear any laughing this time_.”

“What the hell is going on?” I mumble, sliding onto the floor as I press my back against the bed.

“ _Somehow, I still have no idea. CJ’s been doing a fair amount of yelling when she’s not using the same voice she uses to soothe the baby. I suggest you put on your thinking cap and figure that out._ ”

“Can I talk to her? CJ, I mean? See if—”

“ _I wouldn’t recommend it,_ ” he answers quickly. “ _Not if you plan on having kids with Donna at some point_.” I open my mouth to ask what he means but he cuts me off again. “ _She’ll reach through the phone and tear off your balls, man. She’ll eviscerate you. You’ve known her for a long time; you know she can do it._ ”

I run my free hand through my hair, tugging at it in frustration. “Danny, I need to talk to Donna. Tell CJ to tell Donna to answer her damn phone.”

“ _First of all, I’m not getting in the middle of this—_ ”

“Not getting in the middle—Danny, what the hell do you call—”

“ _And second of all, there’s no way in hell I’m speaking that way to my wife. I’m already in the doghouse by default; I’m not going to be the one to push her over the edge._ ”

My shoulders sag. “I just need to know where she is. Please.”

He sighs wearily into my ear. “ _I make no promises but…I’ll see what I can do._ ” He calls out to CJ, asking about Donna’s whereabouts. I pull the phone away from my ear as CJ yells in the background, “ _Are you kidding me? Suddenly he cares about what happens to her?!_ ”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask to no one in particular. “I’ve always cared what happens to Donna.” I hear mumbling on the other end of the line, voices indistinguishable though significantly less shouty.

“ _CJ told me to tell you that Donna said she’s okay. Safe, I guess._ ”

I let out a whoosh of air I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Great—now, ask CJ to—”

“ _Not. Getting. In. The. Middle_ ,” he repeats and I sigh in frustration.

“I just need to know how to fix it, Danny. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“ _I can’t fix it for you, man. I have my own relationship to navigate. One would have thought you were long past the stage of screwing things up with Donna, though. I thought that’s what the Bartlet administration was for—working out the kinks._ ”

“I don’t even know why she’s so pissed off at me!” I exclaim, rocketing to my feet so I can pace around the room.

“ _Well, I suggest you figure it out._ ”

“How can I figure it out when she won’t talk to me?!”

He sighs in resignation. “ _Is the not talking to you thing a recent development?_ ”

“I…” I trail off, trying to think back. We talked in my just a little while ago, but I’ve been pretty tied up at work and haven’t had much of a chance to talk to anyone unless it’s been about the job. “Yeah, I guess it’s recent.”

” _You_ guess _it’s recent? Josh, I’m no expert, but if you’re not sure if your fiancée has been speaking to you recently or not, I think you’ve gone past the point I can help you_.”

I rub my forehead, trying to think. Why would Donna be so mad at me that she’d leave me? What could I possibly have done that was so heinous that she’d rather leave our life than stay to work it out?

I draw a blank. I’ve got nothing. I’ve hardly seen the woman in weeks and while I know it’s not ideal, especially not right now, it’s unavoidable. She knows that. She knows that the job has to come first. We’ve talked about that a million times. It’s the life we’ve chosen.

“I don’t know,” I finally say. “I really don’t know.”

“ _Josh,_ ” he says sharply. ” _Think about it. Think long and hard. Women rarely get this upset about nothing. You know that. You know that even when it seems like they’re pissed off at you because you forgot to put your socks in the laundry basket, it’s not because you didn’t do it that one time. It’s because you didn’t do it the hundred other times she asked, and because you didn’t wash the dishes or clean up after yourself or one of the million other things that are in no way their job to take care of and yet always falls on their shoulders. So if Donna’s mad at you, it’s not because of something simple; stop focusing on the minutia. Big picture, Josh. Big picture._ ”

“Big picture?” I ask, more to myself than anyone else. “Danny, I don’t know. I really don’t know. I’ve been at work. What the hell could I have done?”

“ _Josh_ ,” he sighs, “ _I’ve known you a long time. I know you’ve loved Donna for a long time. I watched you awkwardly try to woo her for years. I’ve watched you screw it up with her for years, too. You can’t be that lost as to what you could have done to hurt her. I would think you’re an expert in that._ ”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think I go around hurting—”

“ _Of course not. Just speaking from experience here, but it seems that we’re always better at hurting the ones we love the most. I know CJ and I have done a number on each other over the years. We know how to do it better than anyone else by this point. I can only imagine that you and Donna are even better at it._ ”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” I answer, not particularly wanting to think about that. “Be that as it may, that still doesn’t help me figure out why she’s so mad at me.”

Danny sighs again. “ _I still can’t help you with that. I know less than you do. All I_ can _tell you is that CJ’s been on the phone for a long time now, and I think she’s ready to reach through the damn thing and wring your neck so whatever you did, it wasn’t small. Try harder._ ”

“Well…she was pissed off when she left work a little while ago.”

“ _That’s a start_.”

“Yeah, but I don’t…she was mad because I was spending so much time at work.”

“ _Try again, buddy_.”

“What?”

“ _You know that’s not why she’s mad. She knows you live and breathe work. To the best of my knowledge, she’s always been your enabler with that. I’d be willing to bet my kid there’s something bigger than that going on, and you know how much I love my kid._ ”

I stop pacing and take a deep breath, hoping to focus myself. I try to think about the whole conversation with Donna and not just the parts I want to remember. She tells me I tend to do that, especially when I want to be the hero or the victim of a situation. “I…I guess I haven’t been paying a lot of attention to the wedding lately.” There’s relative silence on the other end as I start to remember more of the conversation that it seems I immediately blocked out. With that, bits and pieces of the last few weeks start to creep in, enough that it makes me dread coming to grips with the rest of it. “Danny, I…I fucked up.”

“ _You think?_ ”

“You don’t even…yeah, never mind. It’s pretty obvious by this point. Shit. Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

“ _Can’t say. You’ll have to talk to her yourself._ ”

“How the hell am I supposed to talk her myself when she won’t answer her damn phone?!” I shout into his ear.

“ _First of all, lower the tone of your voice with me, please. Whatever you did wrong isn’t_ my _fault. Second of all, she’s been on the phone with CJ for a while, so that might be why she hasn’t answered your calls, even with call waiting. Third of—_ ” He’s cut off and I hear muffled conversation in the background and it sounds like Danny is informing CJ that I’ve had an epiphany. I haven’t quite gotten there yet, but I know it’s coming.

“ _You need to leave her alone for tonight, Josh_.” I cringe at the sound of CJ’s voice. “ _Stop calling her incessantly. She told you she’s fine, now let it go._ ”

“CJ, how am I supposed to let it go when—”

“ _Because she needs space right now. If she wants you to know where she is, she’ll tell you, but she needs time away from_ you _right now. You’ll be lucky if she still wants to marry you._ ”

I gulp, the bottom dropping out of my stomach. “Has she…ha-has she said she doesn’t want to marry me?”

“ _Not yet_.”

“CJ, it’s not your place to convince her to call off the wedding.”

“ _I’m not trying to convince her of anything. She’s an adult and she has a mind of her own. All I can do is present all the reasons why she might be better off on her own than with you_.”

That hits me like a physical blow. CJ’s been my friend for a long time, even when I’ve screwed up royally and almost beyond repair. To hear her say something like that hurts in ways I’ve never felt. “Jesus, CJ.”

“ _You don’t deserve her,_ ” she tells me, her voice quiet and weary.

“You think I haven’t known that for years now? I know she’s too good for me.” I actually do know that—I knew that when she worked for me, I knew that when I took advantage of her sweet, caring nature, and I’ve known that since the moment she decided she wanted to be with me. “Just tell me what I did so I can fix it. I just want to fix it.”

“ _That’s not up to me and you know it. Anything Donna’s told me is between the two of us. It’s on you to figure this out._ ”

“She won’t talk to me, though! How can I make it better if she won’t talk to me?”

“ _Give her time, Josh. She needs a little space right now. And, you know, until you’re sure of what you did and you’re one hundred percent committed to fixing it, don’t bother. She doesn’t need you to half-ass it just because you don’t like to lose. This is the woman you’re planning to spend the rest of your life with—you can’t do this part-way. Be better than that._ ”

I slump forward, defeated, as I cradle my forehead in my free hand. “You said she’s safe?” I finally ask, my voice faint.

“ _She’s safe,_ ” CJ confirms. “ _She’s not out wandering the streets. That has to be comforting, right?_ ”

I laugh without humor. “You don’t think…you don’t think I’ve lost her, do you?”

“ _Josh, I really couldn’t say. It’s not even my place to say it. The only thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that she loves you. She loves you more than she ought to. I don’t know what’s going to happen; all I can do is be here for her when she’s feeling lost and sad._ ”

My insides twist a little at that—“lost and sad.” I made her feel that way. Of course I did, though. How could she feel anything but that with how I’ve been treating her lately? “Okay,” I finally answer. “I’m glad she has you, CJ.”

She sighs on the other end. “ _Get some sleep, Josh. At the risk of sounding like your mother, think about what you did. When you figure it out, make sure it’s something you actually want to fix before you go looking for her._ ”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence on the other end for a few long moments. “ _Bye, Josh._ ”

The call ends before I can say anything else and the phone drops out of my hand, bouncing onto the floor and out of sight. I look over at the landline on the bed next to me and pick it up, putting it to my ear when I realize I never ended the last call I placed to Donna and it’s probably connected to her voicemail.

“Donna,” I whisper into the void. “I don’t know if you’re listening to this right now but…I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say other than I’m sorry. I’ve hurt you, and I’ve taken you for granted, and I don’t blame you if…” I gulp, choking on the thought I can’t bring myself to finish. “I love you. I love you so much. I’m gonna…I’m gonna try to give you some space but…you know how I am. I’m not very patient. You’ve told me that you think I’m a compulsive fixer, and I want to fix this. I want to fix us. I want to know that whatever I’ve done isn’t so horrible that we can’t get through it. We’ve gone through so much…Donna. Tell me I’m not too late. I…” my voice trails off and I shrug helplessly, not sure what else I can say into her voicemail. “I’ll be at home tonight if you…if you want. Whatever you need, all right? Just…I love you.” I’m silent for a few long moments—it could be minutes or hours, really, for all I’m keeping track—before I end the call, dropping the phone beside me. I crawl across the bed a moment later, ignoring the feeling that I don’t belong here, and lie down. I grab Donna’s pillow and clutch it to my chest, taking a deep whiff of her scent. A strange sensation rushes through me, and I only realize then how long it’s been since I was this close to her. I haven’t so much as smelt her hair in weeks never mind something as basic as hold her.

Part of me feels completely pathetic for holding her pillow to my chest like this, like some heartsick teenager who’s broken up with this first girlfriend, but it doesn’t take me long to realize I’m just pathetic. I try not to think about whole broken up thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say—I was NOT expecting that response to this story. I truly hope it goes the way you all want it to, but I have a feeling your expectations are too high. That said, I appreciate each and every one of you reading this and I hope you’re into this chapter as much as the first.


	3. Chapter 3

After fighting it for who knows how long, my eyes flutter open, taking in the dim early morning light. I roll onto my side, looking numbly at the empty expanse of hotel bed next to me. Two nights I’ve spent in this room now and I don’t feel like I’m any closer to figuring this all out than I was when I left work a couple of days ago. I called Helen yesterday afternoon and asked her for a second day, though I promised to work remotely and be accessible by phone, which is what I wound up doing yesterday. She okayed the request, sympathy evident in her voice, which led me to believe she’d spoken to Josh, who was probably losing his mind, or Josh had spoken to the President and it got back to Helen—who knows? I didn’t want to ask. She told me not to worry about working but truthfully, the distraction has been nice. I would have preferred actually being at work, but now is probably not the moment.

I sigh, draping my arms over my face. This is not how I thought my life would be two weeks before my wedding. I always imagined it’d be hectic, but to be hiding from my fiancé is not the life I pictured. Part of me can acknowledge that it’s a little childish to be avoiding him this way and that just because his behavior has been poor doesn’t mean I should respond in kind. Still, I don’t know if I can be around him right now. I tried to listen to the dozens of messages he’s left me, but I could barely get through one of them before it was too much.

I uncover my eyes and roll over, grabbing my phone. I vaguely acknowledge that it’s not yet seven before I check for missed calls. More than twenty of them since I last looked. I almost have to applaud his restraint, especially considering how many times he called me in one hour after he first realized he couldn’t find me. I scroll through the log, noticing there’s been a lull for a few hours, and I can’t help but be relieved because that means he’s probably getting some sleep.

I drop the phone on the nightstand and curl back onto my side, staring at the spot next to me that would usually hold Josh. I’d forgotten how lonely this could be. It can be bad enough when one of us is traveling and we’re separated that way, but this is a different feeling all together. I feel hollow inside right now, though it’s not entirely because I’m sleeping alone.

My hand reaches out, stroking the empty spot next to me like some melodramatic woman in a soap opera. My engagement ring twinkles in the dim light and I lift my hand up, smiling at it sadly. Tears well in my eyes and I can’t help but laugh at myself a little—now I _really_ feel melodramatic. I rub the band with my thumb, watching the stone shift a little in counterpoint. I actually considered taking it off for a few long moments—I damn near left the thing on Josh’s nightstand before coming here—but that would have felt far too final and definitely overdramatic. As far as I know, we’re still engaged. I don’t know how long that’ll last at this point, and that’s part of the reason I’ve been reluctant to talk to Josh. I’m not ready to hear what he might have to say.

I don’t want things to be over with Josh—he infuriates me but I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him. I _do_ want to spend the rest of my life with him. I just don’t know if the feeling is mutual anymore. He’s definitely been behaving like someone who doesn’t want to get married. He’s gone out of his way to avoid me lately and the more I think about it, the longer I realize it’s been going on. I just couldn’t see it. I’ve been wracking my brain, even more so for the last day as I try to figure out what could have happened to make him change. I keep trying to pinpoint something I did or said to turn him off so completely, but I’m drawing a blank. Since the moment we got engaged he’s been talking about how he can’t wait to marry me. He was excited about setting a date. He smiled happily through the engagement pictures our parents surprised us with in Wisconsin during Thanksgiving. We got through Chanukah with no major incident and managed to spend most of Christmas Eve and Day together. We toasted the New Year while overdressed at some politico’s party knowing we had less than two months before we’d be husband and wife. He was absent a lot after that, but I thought it was because of the State of the Union. I assumed that he and the President were hunkered down as they worked on the details of the speech so I didn’t let myself think too much about how he wasn’t responding to any questions about the wedding or that he never seemed to be around anymore.

I make a noise and rub my hands over my face, sitting up. I have to stop driving myself crazy over this. I didn’t do anything wrong; nothing so wrong that I deserve this. He’s a grown man who can take responsibility for his actions. I’ve tried to talk to him and have been met with either a brick wall or the snide remarks that he so easily lobbed at me the other night. _He_ needs to make the effort now.

A quiet part of my brain whispers that maybe that’s what all the phone calls and messages have been about. Maybe he’s making the effort now. I shake my head as I stand and make my way into the bathroom, going through my morning routine robotically. I’m sure he’s worried right now; at least he noticed I’d gone. Unfortunately, the only reason he noticed I’d left was because we’d had a fight at work. I’m not sure what part of the incident made him go looking for me, but I’m positive if things hadn’t come to a head when they did—if I’d just gotten fed up and left our apartment and gone to a hotel—he’d still have no idea. He wouldn’t even know I wasn’t at work. When I talked to Helen yesterday, she told me Josh had been looking for me—her tone spoke volumes but I didn’t know how much information she had. All I said in response was “Thank you.” I figured if I said anything more, I’d wind up spilling my guts to her and I don’t want to put the First Lady in the middle of my domestic squabble, least of all because Helen isn’t always a Josh fan and I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.

I contemplate hopping in the shower, but I spent more than an hour in it last night, doing little more than staring at the wall the entire time. I got waterlogged and not much else. I have no doubt that I could easily do it all over again this morning, but some little part of me doesn’t see the point in wasting that kind of time or water again.

I move back into the bedroom and pull on clothes. The only thing I know for sure right now is that I need to leave the building, even if it’s only for a few minutes. I haven’t set foot outside my room since I checked in the other night. I only opened the door for room service. I figure I can run down to Starbucks, stretch my legs a little, make sure the world is still turning before going back into hibernation.

I grab my jacket and purse, making sure my room key card is on me as I pull open the door. I stumble as soon as I cross the threshold, nearly faceplanting into the door across from mine as I try to stifle a scream. I barely manage to catch myself and spin around, my heart thumping wildly in my chest for a split second as I see a person sprawled in front of my door. It only takes another moment for me to recognize who it is. Josh.

“Oh, my God!” I exclaim, my free hand covering my mouth as I try to calm myself.

“Ow,” he moans as he sits up. “Don’t you look where you’re going?”

“Do you always lie down in front of doors?”

“When necessary.” He winces, rubbing his forearm, and I realize that’s what I accidentally kicked and tripped over. I squat down, pressing my fingers carefully against his arm as I search for damage.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” he answers, his voice soft, and my eyes dart up. We’re practically nose to nose and it makes me sad to realize that not only have we not been this close to each other in weeks, this is the most physical contact we’ve had in some time, too.

“What’re you doing here?” I finally ask, tearing my eyes from him.

“You have to ask?” I make a noise and he clears his throat uncomfortably. “I made the mistake of not coming after you before. Wasn’t gonna do it again. I gave you as much time as I could stand before I abused the power of my position and had someone look into it for me. It only took a few minutes to track you down.”

“So you got here and what? Decided to barricade my door by lying in front of it?”

“No, I got here last night. I sat here and called you for hours. I guess I fell asleep, though.”

“You _slept_ out here? Josh, are you crazy? What about your detail? They must be going nuts.”

“I ditched ‘em.”

My eyebrows lift in disbelief. “Josh.”

“Fine—they’re guarding the stairways. They decided to let me have a little bit of dignity.”

I shift until I’m sitting next to him, close but not touching. “You’ve been here since last night?”

“Yeah,” he answers, his hand reaching out to me for a few seconds before it drops back to this lap. “I figured you’d call security on me if I knocked on your door so I thought I’d wait you out; I just didn’t realize you’d sequestered yourself in your room. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but I didn’t get much the night before…or the last few weeks…and I guess knowing where you were relaxed me a little.”

I want to be touched by the gesture—and a little bit of me is—but a lot of me just can’t give in to one sweet moment. “Suddenly you care where I was?” I ask, my voice coming out soft and choked.

His head snaps to me but instead of looking angry at the comment, he just looks sad. “I can’t believe that’s a question I made you ask. Of course I care where you are and if you’re all right. I’ve just done a shitty job of showing it lately.”

I nod, looking down at my hands. “Yeah.”

“Donna…I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He pauses for an instant, the confusion coming off him in waves. “What?”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For everything.”

I look up at him again, and I can tell he means it. He _is_ sorry. But I honestly need more than a blanket apology at this point. “Save it,” I tell him wearily. “If you don’t know why you should be sorry—if you can’t even take a guess at it—I don’t want you to say it just to say it.”

“I’ve been an asshole,” he says immediately. “The way I talked to you the other day was…reprehensible. Inexcusable.”

“It was. You made me feel this big,” I tell him, holding my finger and thumb a sliver apart. “You haven’t done that in years.”

He cringes even as he nods. “I was condescending as hell. I was putting all the wedding stuff of on you like we’re not both going to be there. I shouldn’t have implied that you’re not busy or that your job isn’t as important as mine.”

My insides twist painfully. Yes, it’s nice that he can acknowledge that he was rude and nasty to me the other night, but I need more. I absolutely hate to feel like I’m being “that” woman, but the other night was just the proverbial cherry on top of the horrible sundae that’s been our relationship lately. “Josh…if that’s the only thing you can think of that needs forgiving…” I shift my feet, moving to stand, but he grabs onto my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

“I’ve been terrible to you. For weeks now. I haven’t—I mean, I didn’t even realize what I was doing.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? You didn’t know you were hurting me?”

He shakes his head vigorously, his eyes growing wide. “God, no. Donna…I’m not trying to…look, I realize I’ve been awful…I’ve been hurting you?”

That’s such a Josh question and I fight not to roll my eyes. “For weeks I’ve been trying to figure out what I did that was so horrible that you’d just…shut me out completely, why you’d feel like you needed to lie about having so much work to do when I knew there wasn’t that much going on—”

“Donna, you didn’t do anything!”

“I know that. At least, _now_ I know that. But I’m still no closer to understanding what happened with you.”

“Look, when I said I didn’t realize it—that I was being so awful—I just mean that I was in denial or repressing it. I just kept telling myself that I had so much to do and I didn’t have time for anything not work related, including you.”

I shake my head in disbelief, still lost. “Did you think you’d just show up at our wedding, say ‘I do,’ and go back to work? Are you even planning on showing up to our wedding?”

He looks horrified. “Of course I am! How can you ask that?”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?!” I exclaim, finally jerking my wrist out of his grasp. “You wouldn’t talk to me, you hardly look at me, you never come home anymore, you avoided all wedding talk like the plague, and then I got to the point where I was scared to talk to _you_ because I didn’t want to find out you were leaving me or kicking me out. How was I supposed to think anything but…” My voice catches in my throat, nearly choking me. “I thought we were over.”

“I don’t want us to be over,” he whispers, his eyes suddenly shiny, but I’m determined not to let myself get taken in by tears, no matter how much it pains me to see him cry.

“I don’t either, but…I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t fix this because I don’t know what’s broken.”

“It’s me. I’m the broken one.”

“Josh, if this is where you give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech…”

“Even if it’s the truth?”

I sigh and shift away from him. “I’m leaving now.”

“I’m scared, Donna,” he whispers.

“What?” I ask, stopping in my tracks.

“I’m scared.”

I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard Josh admit to being scared about anything. “Why are you scared?” He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. “Are you scared about being married? I know it’s a big step but you were the one ready to elope two days after we got engaged.” He makes a noise, smiling humorlessly. “It’s okay to be scared about marriage, you know, but you should talk to your future wife about that. If we’re supposed to be a team, you have to learn how to be open and communicate. Everyone gets nervous about marriage, though.”

“Even you?”

“I’ve been scared about being left at the altar,” I tell him, the edge in my voice audible even to me. “Other than that, I’ve been so busy working and planning a wedding that I haven’t had time to think about it. You know, just because we have an event planner for this doesn’t mean there’s not a lot of work for us to do and I haven’t had any input from you so I’ve been even busier than—” I stop abruptly, staring at him in disbelief. “You did it. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it before now.”

“Did what?” he asks, lifting his head from his hands to look at me. “What did I do?”

“You did what you always do. You did what I was worried you’d do when we first got together.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“We made it two years, though,” I say, more to myself at this point. “I guess I thought we were in the clear.”

“Donna, you’ve got to include me in this conversation.”

I actually do roll my eyes this time. Oh, the irony. “The passive-aggressive thing you do. When you’d collide with a woman and try to seduce her and go on a few dates and then ignore her until she went away. The thing I said I was scared you were going to do when we started dating and wouldn’t move in with you right away because of it. I really thought we’d gotten past that. I thought we’d made it. I thought that when you didn’t freak out when I moved in we’d be okay. I thought because we talked about marriage and kids we’d be okay. I thought because you proposed to me that I didn’t have to worry about any of this anymore. I just thought that because we’d made it two years that this wasn’t going to happen.” I shake my head, big stupid tears running down my cheeks suddenly. “I’m still that naïve girl, though, aren’t I? The dairy queen you like to tease because I didn’t have the experience you have. The one who thinks that because a guy says he loves her he means it unconditionally. It’s so quaint, right—”

“Donna, stop. I don’t think any of those things about you. I’m not trying to push you away, I’m not tired of you, and I’m _not_ scared about being married.”

“…You’re not?”

“No! I _like_ the thought of being your husband. I like that people will assume we’re a unit instead of two separate entities, and I have no shame in telling people I’ll have to ask my wife before I can commit to anything.”

He pauses there and I wait for him to continue, but he seems to be content with staring at the wall in front of him. “You’re going to have to help me out here, Josh. Either talk to me or don’t waste my time. I’ve dealt with enough silence from you for a lifetime.”

“I’m not scared of being married,” he repeats. “I guess I’m scared of _not_ being married.”

I’m too tired for this. I’ve gone too many nights without much sleep to try to figure out Josh’s double talk. “I’m not following you. If you’re so scared of not getting married, why are you doing your damndest to not get married?”

“No, I’m not worried about _never_ getting married. I’m scared about being married to you and then…not being married.”

“What?”

“I’m scared I’m going to hurt you.”

I stare at him for a long time, trying to process that information. “So…your solution was to hurt me?”

“I didn’t say it’d make sense.”

“It sure as hell doesn’t. You’re scared of hurting me so you ice me out? I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that. What does that even mean?”

“I’m gonna fuck this up, Donna, and you know it. I remember you telling me really early on that I‘m not good at relationships and you’re not wrong. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to find a balance.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What balance haven’t you been finding? For two years now you’ve been the one to insist we take time for us. You’re the one who’s suggested mini vacations and real vacations and done your best to get home as early as possible every day. Why do you think being married is going to change that? What happened?”

He shakes his head a little, shrugging. “It’s going to sound kind of dumb.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I answer sarcastically and his head whips up as he stares at me. “Josh, I already think you sound nuts so you might as well tell me what you’re thinking.”

He sighs, rubbing his hands through his hair until it all stands out like he’s been electrocuted. “No one makes this work. Not in our line of work.”

I rub my forehead, feeling my frustration mounting. “Josh, please stop speaking in riddles.”

“I’m going to ruin our marriage, and you’re going to wind up hating me.”

I stare at him for a few long seconds, trying to understand what he’s saying, but my heart starts to pound of out control as my mind immediately goes to worst case scenarios. “Did you…” I choke on the words for a few moments; they stick in my throat, nearly killing me. “Did you…cheat—”

“ _Never_. I have never and I will never cheat on you. I love _you_ and I wouldn’t screw it up over something dumb like another woman who could never hold a candle to you.”

Relief floods through me; I really do know he’s not a cheater. It’s not in him. But with the way he’s acting right now, it seems that anything is possible. “I had to ask,” I whisper.

“I know,” he answers. “I want to be mad about it, but I get it. I just need you to know that the only thing I’m sure about in my life is my love for you and how much you mean to me.”

Now confusion overwhelms me. “But—if that’s—”

“I don’t know how to explain how scared I am of losing you,” he says softly.

“But _why_ would you suddenly be worried about that? What changed? What happened? You never seemed worried about it before—”

“Donna, I am _always_ scared that I’m going to lose you. I have been for years. I should think that’d be pretty obvious. It’s not like I wanted to keep you as my assistant because I didn’t want to have to train someone else for the job. I didn’t take the first plane to Germany because you’re so good at typing. Losing you has kept me up at night for years.” He sighs ruefully. “I’ve lost just about everyone that means something to me in my life. I can’t lose you, too.”

“Josh…it’s not that I don’t believe you because I know that you mean that but…why would that hit you so suddenly? And why would that mean you should push me away? Wouldn’t you want to keep me as close as possible?”

“I guess…I’m more afraid of all this than I wanted to believe.”

That feels like a sucker punch. “You’re having second thoughts about getting married?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. No easy feat considering I still have traitorous tears running down my cheeks.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. I don’t want to do all this just to have you file for divorce in a few years.”

“Josh, I’m not going to divorce you! Why would you ever think I would?”

“Look at all the failed marriages!”

“…What failed marriages?”

“Aside from the people we know that haven’t been able to make it work? The sheer number of people I’ve spoken to in the last…Donna, every congressman, senator, delegate, and office lackey I’ve spoken to in the last few months has at least one seriously failed relationship under their belt. All these guys I thought were happily married…they’re not. They’re in the middle of divorcing their wives; some of them are on their second divorce. They’re at work all the time and can’t find time to make their marriages work. The women in their lives are unhappy to the extreme and can’t handle the hours their husbands keep and want out of the relationship, and who can blame them? And the ones that seem happy…God, the ones that seem happy are having affairs! Do you know how many people in this town are cheating on their wives? How many of these assholes claim to be too busy to come home to help their kids with homework but manage to rent out a hotel room for their mistresses? It’s insane! And it’s got me thinking about how I don’t want that to be us. I don’t want to be so wrapped up in my job that you can’t stand it anymore. I don’t want to be…Leo. I don’t want to be Leo, and I don’t want to come home one day to find out that you’re going to leave me.”

Silence falls between us for a few minutes as I try to process what he’s telling me, and as I try to figure out what might be hiding underneath it all. “Josh,” I finally say as I rub my forehead, “do you know ridiculous and completely…sexist all that sounds? These women can’t handle their men working so they leave them? These women are just sitting at home, waiting for their husbands to show up, hoping they’ll be granted a few hours of time? This isn’t 1950—I’m sure a lot of those women are keeping themselves occupied.”

“Donna, I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. I’m saying these are guys who have long hours that keep them from their families and it can be too much. A woman has a right to be married to a guy who’s going to be around—same way a guy would want to be married to a woman who makes time for him, I hear the sexist thing now.  No one seems to be able figure it out, though. No one knows how to make a marriage work. I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to be the person who lets work take precedence over everything.”

“So…don’t be that person. I don’t get what you’re trying to say. Josh, all that stuff is something you can easily avoid if you just talk to me. Don’t forget that I don’t exactly keep banker’s hours, either. I’m at work super early and crazy late, too. I worked _with_ you in that office for almost eight years—I know how it goes. I know that the hours can be long, but in the last two years, you’ve made the effort to not be there all the time. You make the effort to come home at a reasonable hour as often as possible. I don’t care about you being busy at work—in fact, I love knowing that you’re trying to save the world. It’s not like I’m sitting at home just hoping that you’ll grace me with your presence for a few minutes. I know your work is important. I find things to do to occupy my time. You’re being ridiculous.”

He laughs, still mostly without humor. “Thanks for calling my concerns ridiculous.”

“ _You’re being ridiculous,_ ” I repeat. “You can have concerns. You can be scared. You can feel all those things and I’m not going to judge you. But this, how you’ve been behaving the last few weeks, how you’ve been responding to all this…it’s ridiculous.”

He shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. “Yeah, I guess.”

It takes everything I have not to whack him. “Josh, you _have_ to talk to me. You can’t just shut me out every time you have a problem. Back when we worked together, you talked to me about everything. If this was six years ago and you were on the verge of marrying Amy—” I pause, choking down the bile that rises in my throat at the very notion. “And you were hiding out at the office until all hours of the night, you’d have me there with you. Even if you didn’t tell me directly what was going on, you’d be saying enough that I could figure it all out. I don’t see why now that we’re in this sort of relationship that has to change. I’m the last person you should be pushing away. If we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, we’re supposed to be a team. We should be able to count on each other, not this garbage where you hide at work because you don’t know how to deal with your issues. I’m not going to live the rest of my life like this.”

He smiles sadly, his eyes red-rimmed, tear tracks shining on his cheeks. “Is that a threat?”

I shrug helplessly. “Yes. I guess it is. If it has to be. I’m not going to spend my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m not going to always be looking over my shoulder to see if my husband has dropped off the face of the earth because he doesn’t know how to deal with change or problems.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“How am I supposed to trust that? I thought I could. I thought you’d managed to break this particular habit after we got together and you stopped avoiding relationship stuff. I thought you found the right person and everything fell into place but now…I don’t want this hanging over us from now until we die.”

“I don’t—I promise—”

“How?” I ask, my voice cracking. “What happens in a couple of years when I tell you I’m pregnant? What then? Will you think you’re fine until the last trimester when the sonogram starts to look less like a blob and more like a baby? Will you disappear on me because you’re scared that you’re going to be a terrible father? Not because you don’t want to have kids but because you’re worried that you’ll do something catastrophic to fuck them up? Let me tell you, Josh, I’m already terrified at how much damage I could inflict on a kid and we haven’t made any attempts at having one. When the time comes, I’m going to need you with me because I’m not signing on to be a single parent. I can’t go chasing after you while lugging around a newborn. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to our future kids.” I pause, taking a deep breath, and it’s only then I realize I’m shaking violently.  “I’ve waited a long time to do this. I didn’t rush off and marry the first guy who smiled at me. I didn’t settle down with someone I had moderate feelings about just so I could say I was married. I wanted the real thing so I waited until I found the right guy. Hell, I waited for _you_. For years I waited for you even if I never thought to call it that. I held every man I met to the impossible standard of Josh Lyman and every one of them came up lacking. I only want to do this once, so if you’re not in it for the long haul…”

My heart crumbles a little as I watch a couple of tears trickle down Josh’s face. “I’ve really fucked things up, haven’t I?”

Honestly, I hate to lay it all on him, but I don’t know what else to say at this point. “Kind of,” I whisper.

“Have I ruined everything? Have I ruined _us_?” I shrug, staring at my hands. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know, Josh,” I sniffle.

He’s quiet for a while. The only noise in the hallway is the soft sounds of our tears. “Do you want to call off the wedding?”

A sob bubbles out of me and I bring my knees up to my chest, burying my face in my arms. I cry harder than I have in a long time. The thought of calling off our life together is agonizing, even after all this. It’s not what I want at all but he wouldn’t mention it if he wasn’t have those thoughts, right?

“I know what you’re thinking and that’s _not_ what I want to do. Not even a little bit. I want to marry you. I have for a long time. I know it’s been shitty lately… _I’ve_ made things shitty lately, but I love you so much I can’t see straight. You’re everything to me. I know it might not feel like it with how I’ve been treating you but you have to know it’s coming from a place of love. I just keeping thinking about how much I can hurt you if things start to go bad and it locks me up. I know it’s not rational. I’ve spent most of the last two days trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me and why I’ve been acting so horribly and they only thing I can figure is that I’m just so fucking terrified of being without you and ruining our relationship that I’ve been closing you out. We’re supposed to get married in two weeks and it’s the biggest, most important thing I’ve ever done—more important than getting someone elected President,” he assures me, cutting off my objection before it can leave my lips, “and the stakes are higher and…I can’t imagine my life without you. Or rather, I can and I don’t like it. It’s bleak. I’ve done life without you and I don’t care for it.”

“I don’t like picturing my life without you, either,” I whisper, letting my head fall back against the wall. “But for weeks now, I thought that’s what I was going to have to do…live without you.”

His arms go around me suddenly, pulling me close, and I melt against his side. His touch still has the same effect on me it always has, his proximity is still comforting. Even though I feel lost at sea right now, being this close to Josh helps anchor me a little. I haven’t been close to him like this in so long. It soothes me even as I ache for what it feels like I’m losing.

“I want to marry you,” he whispers. “That hasn’t changed. Until the day I die I’ll want to be your husband. But if you don’t want this…or me…anymore, I won’t blame you. If you want to cancel the wedding, we can. Or, if you’d rather postpone it until you think you can trust me again, we can do that. I want what you want. I want you to be sure about this. That’s the only thing that matters—that we go into this marriage one hundred percent sure that it’s the right thing to do. It doesn’t matter how long it takes; days, weeks, years, whatever you need to be sure that I’m in this with you. I’ll do whatever I have to do to prove that I’m not gonna flake out on you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

“That’s not what I want,” I whisper into his neck, my arms involuntarily wrapping around his middle. “That’s not how I want our marriage—our life together—to be. I don’t want you always begging for forgiveness. That’s not fair to either of us.”

“I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to prove that I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know how…I don’t know. Donna…”

“I need time, Josh. I don’t know how much time I need. These past few weeks have been agony. I thought my whole life was falling apart. I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you,” he answers quickly, his arms tightening around me. “Never.”

“I had no way of knowing that; don’t you get it? All those things about you and us that I thought I _knew_ were suddenly gone. Nothing made sense. Everything felt upside down. I thought I’d given up everything for a guy again. I thought I was going to have to find a new home, or a new job, or hell—a new life. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to be around you anymore, not if things were ending that way.”

“Well, you’re going to know it. From now on. I promise you. You’re always going to know how I feel about you and how much I love you and…You are the most important thing in the world to me. _The most important thing_. You’re my number one priority. I’m not going to choose the job over you even though I know you’ve never asked me to pick you. I’m doing it on my own. I’m going to talk to you about everything, every fear and doubt and concern. All of it.” He lets out a strange noise, almost like he’s choking. “Well, as long as you still want me. But even if you don’t, you’re always going to be the most important person in the world to me, and I will always want you to know that.”

My stomach flutters even as my heart continues breaking into millions of pieces. It’s a horrible place to be—so agonizingly in love with someone while being so broken by them. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I want to go back to just a couple of months ago. I want to go back to the moment we got engaged and everything was so blissfully happy and we absolutely couldn’t wait to get married. I want my life with Josh back. It’d be so easy—it’d be so very easy—to just fall back into him. To just ignore all the other stuff and pretend everything is back to normal. It’d be so easy. I can’t though. I can’t do that to myself. I can’t go back to him because it’s easy. I have to go back to him because it’s what I want and because I’ve thought about everything that’s happened and I know I can live with it all and move past it.

“I just need some time,” I whisper again, and I feel him nod against my head.

“I know. I understand. I promise I’ll give you as much time as you need. I’ll give you _whatever_ you need.” He tightens his hold on me and I respond in kind. I’ve missed being this close to him. I’ve missed everything about him. I’ve missed how we fit together without any effort. I’ve missed my other half.

I feel his lips against my forehead, lingering for a long while as he breathes. My eyes fall shut as I try to take in as much of him as I can. It’s crazy but I’ve even missed the way he smells. It’s still in the apartment a bit but not nearly as strong as it’s been for all the years he’s lived there. I didn’t completely realize it until I grabbed onto his pillow one night, trying to be close to him, and realized that it only smelled like my shampoo. Here he is now, though—pure, concentrated Josh, making my heart race even as he soothes me.

He chuckles quietly, though it sounds rueful, keeping his lips against my skin. “What is it?” I manage to ask.

“It’s horrible—I don’t even remember the last time I kissed you.”

“State of the Union,” I answer immediately. “You kissed me right before the President went on stage and then again right after because you were excited.”

“Jesus. Has it been that long?”

“Unfortunately. That’s the same time I noticed you weren’t coming home anymore.”

He makes a different noise, pressing another kiss to my forehead. He moves to my temple, his lips blazing little trails of fire on my skin as he moves to my cheek. He lingers there and my eyes close in response. It feels like a little slice of heaven. He presses his forehead against mine, his breath hot on my face. I open my eyes a little, not surprised to see his lips are millimeters from mine.

“I’m not ready,” I whisper, and I can feel his entire body freeze. He nods though, and changes course, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“Okay,” he answers, his voice barely audible. “Okay. I waited almost nine years to kiss you the first time. I can wait again.”

I feel another tear trickle down my cheek; I sincerely hope it’s not that long before we kiss again. Honestly, a part of me wants to kiss him now, and it takes all of my strength to hold off. I’m too much of a pushover for him and I really need to take some more time before any decisions are made, even if it’s just when to kiss him again.

“Do you think…maybe…we could spend the day together?” he asks hopefully. “We can do whatever you want. Anything. You name it.”

“I have to work,” I tell him, pulling back a few inches so I can see his face. “I told Helen I’d work remotely if I wasn’t coming into the office.” His entire face drops and my hand reaches out before I can help it, cupping his cheek. “If you want to hang out with me while I work, you—”

“I’ll take it,” he answers immediately, nodding his head so hard I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. “That sounds fantastic.”

My lips curve up a little and he gives me the same smile in return as we sit in the hall for a while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps not what you were expecting or hoping, but it’s the best I can do. There’s still another chapter to this one, and I’m thinking about writing a second part but keeping it separate. I wanted to get this posted before 2019 came about (at least in my time zone). Happy New Year!


	4. Chapter 4

My eyes open slowly. I feel oddly disoriented. It takes me a few long moments to realize that I slept so deeply that it almost feels like I didn’t sleep at all. Or like I’m still asleep. I’m not sure yet if it’s a good feeling or a bad feeling, or if I should just go back to sleep. I blink slowly, my eyelids falling shut again. Sleep seems like a good option.

I sigh and burrow beneath the blankets, reveling in the warmth as it soothes my tired body. The gentle heat is definitely telling me to go back to sleep.

The blankets shift a little and my eye cracks open. They shift again and I’m suddenly alert, surprised to realize there’s a body behind mine. I don’t have to look to know it’s Josh—I know everything about the way his body feels against mine. The surprising part is that he’s actually in bed next to me.

I blink hazily at the clock on my side of the bed; it’s not even five yet. I should still be asleep. And yet…the feeling of Josh curled up behind me is so novel at this point that I don’t want to miss it. I don’t even want to pinch myself in case I’m actually still asleep.

We did spend the day together, though—I know that much. He went back to our apartment for a few minutes to grab his laptop and some files and met me in the hotel lounge bearing coffee and breakfast. I wouldn’t let us work in my room because I knew I’d have zero restraint and I needed to see if we could just spend time together. He didn’t push; I have to give him that. He sat there at our little corner table and minded his own business, tapping away at his keyboard between phone calls. His only request was that I check out of the hotel, which I eventually agreed to with the understanding that I would check in again if I didn’t think I could handle being at home.

He took me out to dinner last night, too, after we’d had enough of staring at computer screens and pointless phone calls. We went to the same place we ate the night we got engaged, though I’m not sure if that was because he was trying to make me feel nostalgic or if it’s because it’s usually easy for us to get into. Either way, it was nice to do that with him again. I hadn’t let myself think about how much I depended on those quiet moments with him at the end of the day, but it was like a breath of fresh air after feeling like I’d been drowning for so long. To be able to just sit and catch up with him felt like I’d found myself again.

I take another moment to try to remember where we are when it occurs to me that we’re in our bed. I’ve already looked at my alarm clock. The mattress isn’t the super soft one I’ve slept on the last several nights, but the firmer one we bought almost two years ago, the one we got because Josh says he’s old and needs the extra support. The blankets have the familiar lived-in feel instead of the pristine-looking hotel bedding.

We’re home. Josh is with me and we’re home. Tears fill my eyes and I squeeze them shut, determined not to let them fall.

After we finished dinner, Josh asked what I wanted to do and I told him I wanted to go home. I told him I couldn’t promise anything, but I knew that I wanted to be at our place. I don’t remember much after that because I think we both crashed within minutes of walking through the door. I don’t know when I last fell asleep that early, but that would explain why I’m awake when the first number I see on the clock is a four.

I let out a sigh and Josh’s body starts a little behind me. “You’re awake?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” I answer, clearing my throat. “I guess so. You?”

He chuckles quietly into my ear. “Don’t know yet.”

“Mmmm,” I answer, burrowing myself deeper into our little nest, and his arms tighten around me.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks a few moments later.

I shrug a little, my eyes blinking slowly. “Good. Better than I have in a while.”

His lips press against the back of my neck, kissing it gently. “Me, too. Much better than sleeping on the couch, that’s for sure.”

I can’t help it; my body tenses at that. “Josh, I never told you that you had to—”

“I know,” he answers immediately, giving me a careful squeeze. “Self-imposed isolation. Still, sleeping next to you is far superior.”

“Well…don’t you forget it.”

He makes a contented noise; his fingertips trail gently over my stomach. “Seriously, though—how’re you feeling?”

I’m quiet for a few minutes, not really sure how to answer. I genuinely have to think about it. “Okay, I think. I really missed this.”

“Me, too.” He sighs. “It’s all my fault.”

“Josh, I’m not saying—”

“ _I_ am. If I didn’t have my head up my ass for so long…”

“I know, but it’s…it’s over now, right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers into my hair. “It’s over now.”

I can’t voice it, or I don’t want to voice it, but I don’t know if I can trust those words yet. I want to believe him, and I know he means it, but my fiancé has been behaving like I don’t exist for weeks now. It’s hard to just believe that everything is back to normal.

I turn over instead, wrapping my arm around his middle as I pull myself closer. I press my face into his neck, breathing in his smell as deeply as I can. His hold on me tightens in response; our legs twine together and it’s only then I notice, somewhat ruefully, that we’re both wearing pajama pants. In fact, we’re more or less fully clothed, which is definitely an oddity for us. Even on the coldest of nights, we rely on the skin-to-skin contact to keep us warm. It just speaks volumes about where we are right now.

We’re silent for a while, long enough that he’s probably on his way back to sleep but I realize, as my fingers absently stroke his back, that I can feel a lot of his ribs. I squeeze my arms around him a little and am surprised at just how narrow he feels.

“Jesus, Josh! You’re so skinny!”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “You’re one to talk.”

“No, seriously—how much weight have you lost?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Weighing myself isn’t something I do regularly.” I’ll give him that—we had a scale at one point, but we tossed it out after Dr. Bartlet lectured us and everyone else we knew about how scales could be counterproductive and take over our lives. Still, he doesn’t have to weigh himself to know that his size has diminished severely. His pants have to be falling off of him.

“Josh, you have to take better care of yourself.”

“Well, you know how I am when I’m working like that—I forget about everything except what’s in front of me. You know I mostly remembered to eat because you scheduled it for me and my current assistant doesn’t micromanage the way you did.” He says it without rancor, so I know he means the “micromanage” thing in a positive way. “But, Donna…you’ve lost weight, too, and let me tell you, I didn’t know you had any to spare.”

“Yeah, but my wedding dress looks great on me.”

“Donna…”

“That’s a lie. The seamstress keeps taking it in and saying it’s going to fall off of me.” I shrug, readjusting my grip on my far-too-thin fiancé. “Between the general stress of planning a wedding and, you know…everything else, I haven’t felt much like eating.”

“We’ll just have to fatten you up,” he says, trying to keep his voice light, but I know the whole not being into eating thing bothers him more than he’ll say. Eating has always been one of my favorite things to do and if I don’t want to do it, then he knows things are seriously amiss.

“You know me—I probably won’t have much of an appetite until…”

“Until?”

I sigh in resignation. “Until I’m sure about all this. Until I feel like you’re in it with me.” My eyes fill with tears and I silently curse myself. I hate that his word isn’t enough for me at this moment; I just know that it’s not. I’ve always been able to trust what he has to say to me, but the past several weeks prove that actions speak much louder than words.

“Yeah,” he answers sadly, his body drooping. “Okay.” He doesn’t say anything for a while again but I can tell his mind is going a million miles a minute. “Let’s postpone the wedding.”

My heart actually cracks into a million pieces. I bury my face in Josh’s neck, though I have no doubt he can feel my tears. “You don’t want to marry me,” I whisper.

“Damn it, Donna— _no_. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I _do_ want to marry you. If all this has taught me nothing else, it’s that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I may have a terrible way of showing it, but I love you and I want us to be together…but not if you’re not ready to trust me. That’s not how our life together should start, and I know we have no one to blame for this but me. I also know that you’d never be the one to pull the trigger with this.” His grip on me tightens and his voice gets choked. “You’re just…you’re so sweet and kind and wonderful and you won’t want to disappoint our family and friends. I’ll do it. I’ll be the bad guy. Everyone can be mad at me, and they should be. I’ll tell people…hell, I’ll tell them whatever you want me to tell them. I don’t care. I fucked this up, and now it’s on me to fix it. I don’t care how long it takes as long as you’re completely sure that this is what you want. I don’t want to be up there reciting our vows and wondering if you’re terrified that I’m going to bolt.” His fingers run down my spine. We sniffle in tandem. “This is too important.”

I clutch onto his t-shirt, pulling myself as close to him as I can without actually becoming one person. I sob into his chest, and I’m not sure if he’s shaking or it’s me. Everything inside of me is so conflicted. I know without a doubt that Josh is the love of my life. If he wasn’t, I don’t think all of this would hurt so much. I also know that I do want to marry him. I don’t just want to live with him forever; I want to be his wife. I want to have kids with him. I want to grow old with him. Unfortunately, I’m now paranoid that he might do this again, and I don’t think I could handle it. I’m having a tough enough time with it all right now. Logically, I know there are worse things he could have done than try to protect me, even if he did it in his own roundabout kind of way. He isn’t a bad guy—I’ve known some bad guys in their various incarnations in my life and Josh isn’t one of them. He’s one of the good ones, and I do know he loves me. I just know it’s not outside the realm of possibility for this to happen again, and that’s what scares the hell out of me.

“Do we have to decide now?” I finally whisper.

“What?”

“Do we have to decide now if we want to postpone the wedding?”

“Donna, you can make that choice whenever you want. If you wake up on the day of the wedding and you’re still not sure, we can postpone. I won’t hate you, and I won’t blame you.”

I’m quiet for a while, listening to him breathe. “Well, can we just take it one day at a time? I don’t know if I can make decision like this on the spur of the moment.”

He chuckles quietly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Isn’t that kind of what happened when I proposed?”

“Josh.” I give him a squeeze before pulling back to look at him, the tears on his face obvious even in our dark bedroom. “I knew a long time ago that I was going to marry you; there was nothing spur of the moment about that choice.”

He smiles at me, his fingers coming up to stroke my cheek. He leans in, hesitating just before he gets to my lips. Before I can over think it, I close the gap and kiss him. I probably shouldn’t be doing this right now, not when our emotions are running so high, but…it feels perfect. I haven’t kissed Josh in so long that I almost forgot how amazing it is.

He keeps it slow, running his fingers through my hair, and I lose all sense of time and place. I have a brief moment of clarity where I berate myself, and remind myself that _this_ is why I wouldn’t kiss him yesterday. It’s so easy to lose myself in him. His head tilts, deepening the kiss, and even the rational part of my brain forgets why it was fighting this.

I roll onto my back—or Josh rolls me, I’m not entirely sure—and I sigh into his mouth at the feel of his body pressed against mine. It’s been even longer since I’ve had this and it makes me lightheaded. His arms wrap around me, and I hook my feet over the backs of his calves to keep him close. Within moments we’re scrambling at each other, pulling at shirts and pushing at pants in an effort to get closer. His fingertips graze over my breast and that snaps me out of it.

“Josh, wait,” I mumble, pushing at his shoulders.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaims immediately, his hands jerking away from me as he pushes his torso off mine. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to. It’s just…” his voice trails off as he stares at me, breathing heavily, and all I can do is nod in agreement.

“It’s okay. Don’t apologize. I was there, too.” I reach up and cup his cheek, smiling tremulously. “I just need more time before we…”

“I get it.” He nods his head so hard I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. “I do. Really. It’s just been so long and I guess I forgot how good we are at this.”

I laugh quietly, pulling him back to me. I give him a quick kiss and turn onto my side again, effectively pushing him off me. He doesn’t go very far, keeping one hand draped just over my waist, his fingers lightly stroking my back. “I didn’t lead you on, did I?”

“I think I led myself on,” he answers. “Besides, even if you did, I’d deserve it, after what I’ve put you through—”

“Josh, stop it. This is not what we’re going to be. I don’t want you flagellating yourself over every little thing. If…when this is all over, it’s over. We don’t have to forget it but I don’t want it to be between us. All right?”

“Okay,” he answers softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

I sigh, resituating myself a little. I don’t entirely believe him, mostly because I know how willing he is to take the fault for everything that goes wrong in the world and then remind everyone that he’s to blame for all of the problems.

“Are you going into work today?” he asks, shifting himself just a little closer to me.

“Yes. It’s been two days—I need to go back. Helen hasn’t said anything directly but I know she knows something’s going on. I’m sure _you_ haven’t said anything to her but…”

“Yeah, there’s a small possibility that the President knows what’s going on. Or, well, at least he knows I haven’t been with you for a few days and was going out of my mind. I don’t know. I might have gone a little off the rails a few times and he had to talk me down from the ledge. Dunno. I wasn’t the most effective person at work the other day. I don’t know what he told his wife but I imagine it was everything. I don’t blame him. I don’t think I gave him any details, though, not the least of which is because I didn’t have any at that point.”

“Oh, God,” I moan, burying my face in my pillow for a few moments. “I’m probably not going to get anything done today; I’ll be too busy trying to dodge questions about what has probably become the fight of the century.”

“Well, if you need any help getting some stuff done, I can do it. I’m actually really far ahead with my work.”

“You don’t say,” I answer sarcastically. “At least you were productive while you were avoiding me.” The air feels like it’s sucked out of the room for a few long moments, and I don’t think either of us breathe. I can’t handle the sad puppy dog look for long and tear my eyes away, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

“I probably deserved that,” he answers softly.

I sigh and try to pull away from him; he doesn’t let me go. He doesn’t feel like he’s holding me forcefully, but I get the impression that letting me go right now would feel like he was letting me go on a larger scale. I sigh again. This moment right now makes me glad that we didn’t wind up having sex. Obviously, I’m not there yet. Parts of me are for sure, and if I could get my mind to shut up for a while I’d probably even enjoy myself but…I guess there’s still a lot to work out.

“I took care of a lot of work the last couple of days,” I finally answer. “But I do imagine that today will be filled with well-meaning but very nosy questions.”

He presses his lips against my forehead. “Seriously, though, if there’s anything I can do help in any way, I’ll do it.”

My stomach flutters nervously. “Well, I still have a few meetings with our wedding planner, including one this afternoon…will you come with me?”

I can feel his body tense ever so slightly. “As long as I’m not in the middle of something, yes. It’s not always easy to get away.”

“Okay, first of all,” I huff out in irritation, propping myself up on my elbow, “you just said you were really far ahead with your work so unless something major comes up there shouldn’t be any problem. All of these meetings are scheduled around your appointments and such. It’s just easier that way. And second of all, we have the meetings _in_ the White House. You don’t have to go far. Most of the time they only last for a few minutes. They’re just so we can go over new details and ask questions.”

“Really? We have the meetings at work?”

 “Josh…”

“No, really. I don’t remember us going to any of those at work a couple of months ago.”

“Well, we met wherever it was convenient at first, but since the planner actually works for the White House, it was easier just to meet her there. Plus, I thought I’d be able to get you involved if it was just down the hall from your office, but…well, it wasn’t.”

“So, it’s already on my schedule?”

“Yes, it’s already on your schedule. Your assistant penciled it in for us. She’s reminded you about it every time, too, but from what I understand you just kind of blew her off.”

“Shit,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I really have been terrible.”

“Well, your entire wedding is going to be a surprise, that’s for sure.”

“Donna…seriously. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want this hanging over us for eternity but I’ve got to say it a few dozen times a day for a while. I’m sorry I was so awful to you, and I’m so, so sorry that I’ve blown off all this wedding stuff. This isn’t how I imagined any of this going. You have to believe that. I don’t want our wedding to be a surprise. I’ll come to the meetings. As long as I’m able, I’ll come to the meetings. I’m sure our planner thinks I’m an asshole but I’ll be as involved as I can for the last couple of weeks.”

“The planner thinks you’re busy—that’s all. She knows what your job is.” He nods a little, though I can tell he’s not satisfied with that answer. “Josh…why’d you get like that when I asked if you’d come to the meetings with me?”

“Like what?”

Playing dumb—nice. “You tensed up. It was like any time the last month or so I asked you anything about the wedding.”

He sighs, stroking my back again. “I don’t want you be disappointed in me again if it turns out I can’t make it to some of these because of work.”

“Josh, I would _never_ hold that against you. You know that. How many times in the last couple of years have we had to cancel plans or leave in the middle of dinner because something came up? I get it. I worked with you for a long time. I know how this goes.” I pause, swallowing the lump that’s suddenly in my throat. “I meant what I said the other day—I would never expect you to put me before the job. I know work has to come first.”

“Damn it, I don’t _want_ it to come first!” he exclaims, making me jump. “Sorry. But I don’t want that to be our life, at least not more than it has to. I know that as long as I have this job there’s a certain amount of freedom I’m giving up but I don’t want it to _constantly_ take precedence over everything. You’re my number one priority, Donna. _You_ are. I’ve gotten muddled about that recently and I know I’ve done a terrible job of showing it, but you are the most important thing in the world to me.”

“It’s a lovely sentiment, honey, but it’s not feasible—you know that as well as I do. Your job—”

“No,” he answers resolutely. “ _No_. I mean, yeah, it’s important and there will always be times when that’s where my focus has to be, but for the most part, it’s _gotta_ be you. If there’s ever a choice, it’s you.”

“Josh—”

“Fuck it, I’ll quit today. I don’t care. If it’s going to come between us, it’s not worth it.”

“Josh, stop. It doesn’t have to be one extreme or the other. I’m not asking you to pick between me and the job—”

“I know, because you wouldn’t do that! You’d gladly take a backseat without complaint, but I don’t want you to have to. That’s not fair—”

“Seriously, you’ve got to stop for a second. There’s a middle ground that you can find. You can’t keep swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other. You can have your job and it can be important—sometimes the most important thing—and it doesn’t have to mean that our relationship isn’t important, too. You’ve done a really good job of balancing it all for the last couple of years and just because you’ve…I don’t know, gone off the reservation lately, that doesn’t mean you can’t find that balance again.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You just have to remember to talk to me about this stuff, okay? If something’s bothering you, don’t bury yourself in your work. I _want_ to be here for you, but if you won’t talk to me, if you hide behind your job, how can I help?”

“Fine; you’re right. I should be talking to you about this stuff. But you’ve got to stop running away.”

I feel my entire body tense and I pull as far back from Josh as I can. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Donna, that’s what you do. When shit hits the fan, you run.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He makes a face, almost like he regrets saying anything, but barrels on. “How many times have you just up and left since we’ve known each other?”

I sit up and stare down at him, my mouth open in shock. “Are you seriously throwing the Dr. Freeride thing in my face _now_ , after all these years?”

He sits up, too, reaching over to turn on his bedside lamp, both of us blinking furiously at the sudden brightness. “You just up and leave, Donna. You know you do. You did it then.”

“Okay, I didn’t leave because ‘the shit hit the fan,’ I left because the guy I’d spent five years of my life with wanted to give us another shot, and I was really, _really_ dumb. I’d left home and driven halfway across the country and joined a presidential campaign and felt wildly under qualified to be there, especially around all of you with two or three college degrees, all from Ivy League schools no less. Yes, I felt insecure. Yes, it felt like it would be easier to go back to him because at least I wouldn’t be in over my head. It was cowardly, but it was also more than ten years ago. I screwed up and then I fixed it. Are you really going to bring it up _now_? Because that’s just shitty.”

He slumps against our headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s not the only time you’ve left me.”

“Left you…Josh, when have I _left_ you? When have I ever left you?”

He looks at me incredulously. “Four years ago. I know you haven’t forgotten.”

“Oh, my God!” I exclaim, burying my face in my hands for a few seconds. “Are you serious? We’ve gone over this a million times, Josh! Far more times than we should have. I didn’t leave you. I tried to tell you.  You wouldn’t talk to me. I put in my two weeks with HR and I’m _sure_ they sent you something about it that you ignored because you thought it was my job to take care of it for you. I _wanted_ to talk to you about everything but you ignored me. What else was I supposed to do? I’d handed in my resignation; I didn’t _have_ to tell you when my last day was. I could have just let you be surprised by the temp. You kept blowing me off when all I wanted was to talk about where I was going with my career. If you’d bothered to talk to me, you might have known that it didn’t necessarily mean that I was going to up and leave my job—I just wanted options. I wanted to know where I could go from there. I wanted your support. It was obvious you had no interest in giving it to me. So I left. Stop playing the victim with this because I didn’t leave _you_ , I left a job. People leave jobs all the time and it doesn’t mean they stop being friends with the people they worked with. You did that. When you wouldn’t keep our lunch meetings, it was like you were saying I didn’t matter to you, and if I didn’t matter to you, why shouldn’t I just leave?”

“Yeah, well…you still went about it in a shitty way,” he answers, slouching down even further, pouting like a child.

“Fine, so I treated you the same way you treated me. We’re even. Are you really still holding that against me?”

He sighs, turning his head from me. “No.” He pushes himself up straight a moment later. The look on his face is almost triumphant. “But you _did_ leave me a couple of days ago, didn’t you? You just disappeared. I couldn’t find you, you wouldn’t answer my calls, I didn’t know what was going on.”

I shake my head in wonder and disbelief. “You’re serious with this. You hardly speak to me for weeks only to be so completely nasty to me in your office the other night when I finally questioned you about it, and _I’m_ the bad guy because I needed to get away from you? That’s great. I thought my fiancé was breaking up with me. I thought he wanted nothing to do with me. The most interaction I’d had with him for more than a month was a fight where he told me he didn’t have time to worry about a party, but I’m the asshole for not wanting to stick around to be abused like that. Got it.” I push myself out of bed and stomp toward the door, pausing for a moment to turn back to him. “For the record, I’m not ‘running away’ this time. I’m getting out of bed because I don’t want to be near you.” I make it half way down the hall before I turn and march back into the bedroom, going over to his side of the bed. He just stares at me, shocked.

“And furthermore, those other times you count as me ‘leaving you’…you’re so full of shit. I didn’t leave you then. We were nothing then. We were coworkers. Most of the time I would have considered you my friend—probably even my closest friend—but we weren’t a couple. You don’t get to act like I committed some sort of heinous crime because your feelings were hurt at those moments. As for the other day, yeah, I get how objectively it’s a big deal because we’re a lot more now. We’re supposed to get married. All of this stuff carries more weight now. But you don’t get a pass on your bad behavior because you think not knowing where I was for a whole day is so terrible. Try living for weeks without knowing if your fiancé ever wanted to speak to you again. Try not knowing if he’s going to show up to the wedding. See how that fucking feels. I left _here_ the other night because I needed to be away from things that reminded me of you. I also thought you were so busy with your head up your ass that you’d never notice I’d gone anywhere. You never left the office anymore, so how would I know that you’d pick that moment to come home? All I got from you was sarcasm and snide remarks when I talked to you about our wedding so I thought it was in my best interest to leave for a little while before I burned the whole place down.” I pause and take a few deep breaths, realizing my voice has gotten progressively louder—I’m probably near the volume where neighbors will complain. “You don’t get to accuse me of running away when that’s exactly what you’ve been doing for weeks. Just because you didn’t do it physically doesn’t mean doesn’t mean you weren’t running away from your problems.” I swipe angrily at my damp cheeks and leave the room again.

Without any real game plan in mind, I head into the kitchen and switch on the coffeemaker, throwing the pot into the sink to fill it so aggressively I’m surprised I don’t break the damn thing. I grab the edge of the sink as the water runs, taking deep breaths that do nothing to relax me. I just wish I could stop myself from crying.

I hear a noise behind me and am not surprised to see Josh standing in the doorway, looking a little shell shocked. I turn back to the coffeemaker and go about starting it up, trying to ignore him.

“This isn’t how I wanted this morning to go,” he says softly, regret in his voice, but I can’t help rolling my eyes.

“You wanted to fight,” I answer him. “You wouldn’t have told me that I run away all the time if you didn’t want to start something.”

“Seriously, Donna. I really didn’t want it to go this way.”

“Whatever.”

“Please don’t ‘whatever’ me. I’m trying, here.”

“Would you like a medal?”

“Christ, Donna! Why are you so angry?”

I turn around slowly, staring at him in disbelief. “Are you really asking me that?”

“I’m really asking you that,” he answers, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“You think you can spend most of a day with me after all this and everything is just going to be back to normal? It doesn’t work like that, Josh!”

“I’m not expecting normal, okay?! I just thought we’d made some progress. I thought maybe you didn’t hate me quite so much this morning.”

The wind goes out of my sails and I feel myself deflate. “Hate you?” I whisper. “Josh…I don’t hate you. If I hated you, this wouldn’t hurt so much. I love you—to a fault, probably. But I’m also angry. I’m still all those things I told you I felt yesterday, but I’m really angry. You almost threw out our entire relationship over absolutely nothing and it pisses me off. You had the nerve to sit there not two minutes ago in _our bed_ and try to say that leaving my boss was the same as almost ending our marriage before it could begin. I don’t want you to be a doormat but damn…could you just accept that this time it was on you? I know I’m not perfect and I’ve screwed up before—and I know I will again—but this one had absolutely nothing to do with me no matter how hard you try spin it. Everything feels bad enough as it is without having you blame me for this, too.”

He makes a noise—a disgusted sounding noise—and scrubs his hands over his face. “Fine. You’re right. I guess I want…I don’t know. Maybe I figured I’d feel less horrible if…damn it, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be blaming you. You’re right about that. But…I don’t think you get how terrified I was when I couldn’t find you. I was so scared that something had happened to you, then I was terrified that you’d left me for good. It was agonizing. I’ve just…lost so many people, you know? I don’t have that much family left and without you…”

I sigh in frustration, turning back to the coffeemaker for lack of anything else to do and pour myself a cup. “Why is it I have to constantly reassure you with your issues but you don’t feel the need to do the same with me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I guess you did early on and I appreciated it but I thought we were so solid that none of that stuff that happened before us really mattered. You told me you’d never expect me to give up my job or my life or whatever for you and I believed you. End of story. We had years of history behind us to back that up. I feel like I’ve had to constantly reassure you that I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks pained, his eyes collapsing into little triangles of sadness. “Donna…”

“Yes, Josh, I know. You have abandonment issues. I get it. I know it’s hard. I do everything I can to help with that. That’s why I check in with you all the time, so you know that I haven’t up and left. I know you need it less now. I know you’ve gotten pretty secure in my being around and that’s fine. I’m glad you can count on me, and I’m sorry that so many people in your life _have_ left, but Josh…” My insides crumple a little as I watch his face; his mouth turns down, his eyes water, and he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. “Josh, those people didn’t leave you on purpose. Don’t you think that any one of them would choose to be here with you instead of the alternative? But if you push someone away, how can you blame them for leaving? I didn’t know what to do. The man I’d dedicated my life to, the one I’d give it all up for if he asked me to, disappeared—literally and figuratively. All those old insecurities I have started to rear their ugly head again, and the last few days especially have made me realize I need someone to reassure me from time to time, too.”

“I can do that,” he promises, nodding his head vigorously. “And if I’m being dense, you can tell me what you need. You can beat me over the head with it. Tell me that I’m not doing my job as your boyfriend or fiancé or husband and I need to be there for you.”

I’m quiet for a while—we both are. I fiddle with my coffee cup for some time before I finally put it on the counter, untouched. He watches me, his body on alert as if he’s stumbled upon a deer in the forest and is waiting to see if it’ll notice him and bolt.

“This isn’t how I’m going to spend my life,” I finally say.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” he answers, his voice catching.

“I meant it then, too. I don’t want us to spend our life together with you constantly trying to make up for this, but I also don’t want you holding these things over my head indefinitely. I can’t live with you throwing these moments back at me every time we have a fight. If we have kids, do you think they should hear their father saying their mother is going to run away again?”

He lets out a long, shaky breath. “No. Our kids should never worry about their parents leaving them.”

“So, you have to decide if you can let it go. Same as you want me to decide if we should postpone the wedding or not. If you think you can’t forgive all of those things or if you need more time before we get married…”

“What about this? The last few weeks I mean? Are you…”

I shrug. “If we get married, I guess that means it’s done and behind us. That’s the only thing I know. I’m not going to marry you if I think this is something that I can’t get over. That’s not fair to either of us. But if we work through all this, then it’s done. Even if it takes some time for my brain to catch up, I don’t get to throw this back at you any time I want to hurt you. We have to move on if we want to, you know…move on.”

He takes a few steps into the kitchen, pausing to look at me questioningly. I’m not sure what he does or doesn’t see but he resumes his slow walk toward me until we’re toe to toe. “I do want us to move forward,” he whispers.

“I do, too.”

His hands reach out, gently holding onto my elbows. “And I want to marry you.”

I take a shaky breath. “You do?”

He smiles at me, his eyes shiny and sad…but beneath that I can see a little bit of hope lurking. “I really, really do.”

“I want to marry you, too.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Completely.”

“I thought you were going to take some time and think about it.”

I shrug, looking away. “I know I _want_ to marry you; I just don’t know if I should. But until further notice, the wedding’s still on. We’ll go about finalizing the plans and…showing up for the rehearsal dinner and we’ll smile for our parents and do all the things we’re supposed to do and hope that it all feels right.”

His hands come up to cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks carefully. “Well, I’m going to check in with you constantly to make sure you want to do this.”

“Constantly?”

“Annoyingly so.”

I huff out a little laugh. It’s not difficult at all to picture Josh asking me at every opportunity if I still want to marry him on our date. He’s nothing if not tunnel-visioned and hyper focused when he wants to be, and if his goal is to make sure _I’m_ sure about marrying him, he’ll call and email and text as often as possible. It’s one of the qualities I love so much about him. I just wish it hadn’t come to this to make him want to focus just a little bit of that energy on me. “I’ll hold you to that.”

His smile broadens and he steps a little closer. “Know what I just realized?”

His proximity is making me a little hazy and unsettled. It takes me a few long moments and a lot of slow blinks to comprehend what he’s saying. “What’s that?”

“If I play my cards right, I kind of get to marry you twice.”

My eyebrows reach for my hairline. “How do you figure that?”

“Don’t we go through the whole thing during the rehearsal? The walk down the aisle, the vows, all that stuff?”

“I don’t think it’s that in depth, Josh,” I whisper, staring at his lips. “I think we just go through the basics, mostly the processional and recessional to make sure everyone is in step and going in the right order. We’re not exchanging any magic words the night before.”

“Close enough,” he breathes and leans in to press his lips to mine. I sigh as I respond, wishing for only a moment that kissing him didn’t feel so completely perfect. It might make a few things feel a little easier if it didn’t. I wrap my arms around him and go up on tiptoe, pulling myself as close to him as I can. He pushes me against the counter but I give him credit for not trying to go any farther. “I love you so much,” he manages to mumble.

“I love you, too,” I answer.

“I’m sorry we fought this morning.”

I sigh and pull back from him a little, though I press my forehead to his. “I am, too. We probably needed it, though. We’ll probably fight a few more times before it’s all over.”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I’d rather we fight and get things out in the open than bottle up our resentment. We’ve done that in the past—it never works out for us.”

He makes a face and neither of us has to say it out loud to remember how unpleasant our working relationship got at times when we’d be angry at each other without saying why, especially toward the end. That’s not something I want to relive.

“Okay.” He gives me a quick kiss and steps back, taking my hands in his. “Let’s go back to bed.”

My eyes widen in surprise and I glance over at the time on the microwave, amazed to see it’s just barely five. A lot can happen in a short amount of time.

“We still have some time before the alarm is supposed to go off and even if we don’t sleep…I’d just like to be near you. Maybe hold you, if you’ll let me. We could try to start the day off on a better foot.”

Inexplicably, my eyes fill with tears at the suggestion. I blink rapidly and nod my head. “Yeah. Yeah; let’s do that.”

He smiles gently and gives my hand a little tug; I follow him out of the kitchen, flicking off the lights as we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap. Maybe not what you wanted as a resolution but a resolution nonetheless. I really wasn’t sure where I wanted to take this after I’d gotten myself into that mess so I just kind of kept writing until I couldn’t write anymore. Still working on other things so stay tuned. I’m considering posting all my Friends stuff to AO3 so if you see a bunch of updates from me, that’s probably why.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been in a writing slump lately and I started working on this something like two months ago. Words have been hard. Anyway, it’s full of angst and such, I guess because I hadn’t done anything like that in a while. There’s more to come because it’s insanely long and unedited and I still need to possibly write an epilogue. I also don’t know if I’m including this in my head cannon. It might be somewhat independent. Who cares, right? At any rate, once you start writing something like this, you have to try to figure out why it’s happening (unless you’re a better writer than I am, in which case you might have a story worked out before you start writing). It’s called Fourteen Days because I’m crap at naming stories and this is what I called it as I wrote and then I couldn’t think of anything else. Womp womp.


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